


wishing on the water

by concerningwolves



Series: the fate the water gave us [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Crossover, Draco too, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Frenemies, Gaius is trying his best, Merlin needs a hug and a hot chocolate, Multi, Nimueh is morally complicated and scary, Slow Burn, Uther Pendragon sucks, even though snape is fighting me tooth and nail, frenemies to lovers, i tried to delicately blend respective canons but they got tangled and now i've lost control, snape and draco are both getting redemption arcs, still not quite at the burning part of slow burn but we're getting there!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-25
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:02:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 25,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22405402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/concerningwolves/pseuds/concerningwolves
Summary: Merlin enters his second year at Hogwarts with tentative hopes; perhaps this time he'll make it through without having to face a dark wizard or to cradle Arthur Pendragon's bleeding body in his arms. Unfortunately, there's a monster roaming the halls, Morgana seems to know something dangerous about Ginny Weasley, and the new History of Magic professor knows far more about Merlin than he does about himself.⁂Or:Merlin wants to study magical plants and creatures in peace. Destiny has other (worse) ideas.
Relationships: Freya/Nimueh (Merlin), Gwen/Lancelot (Merlin), Hermione Granger & Gwen, Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Morgana & Ginny Weasley
Series: the fate the water gave us [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1395310
Comments: 74
Kudos: 362





	1. The Summer Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> Aaaaaand we're back! Welcome to _wishing on the water_ , the sequel to _a beast of burden_.  
> I wanted to finish this whole fic before I started uploading, but I've realised that because I'm doing some heavy work on an original project, I need to post now or you won't have any new tFtWGU content for like, a year. (you can check my Tumblr if you're interested in what I'm up to; the link is in the notes at the end). This whole fic is plotted and the first three chapters are outlined, so I hope I'll be updating once a fortnight at least. Thank you to everyone who said they're excited for the series to continue - I'm very excited too!  
>  **Content warnings** for emotional and mental abuse, anxiety attacks and PTSD. More will be added where relevant.  
> Enjoy! x

Merlin Elised spent his summer crawling under tables to get at teetering stacks of books and climbing up a ladder to get things off the top shelf. The old man who ran the tiny indoor flea market needed someone small and able enough to get to all the places he couldn't reach – and there were a lot of those. It wasn't a proper job; the cash wage was meagre, the dust made him sneeze and the alphabetising made his head spin, but it was _something_.

It was an escape.

Harry Potter would soon escape from the window of the Dursley’s house in a flying car. Merlin didn’t need anyone to rescue him – not like that, anyway. But he _did_ need some way out of the nightmares that haunted his sleep, and nothing was more effective than physical (and entirely _muggle_ ) work.

At least when Merlin was working, he didn't have to think about the smell of Quirrell's burning flesh.

Dust, nightmares and bruises aside, Merlin's summer was the best he had ever known. His desk was cluttered with letters from his new friends and his homework, made exciting by the existence of magic, sat in piles on the floor. There were no house rivalries or student politics to navigate on the estate of Ealdor; Merlin was free to read about magical creatures and watch Star Trek re-runs to his heart’s content.

But returning home on a balmy Saturday evening, his bike rattling ominously down the estate's slopes, Merlin couldn't stop the worry from the gnawing him. 

Most of those letters were from Arthur. Merlin hadn't expected it, but somehow he and Arthur Pendragon had become pen pals. Merlin had grown used to the tap on his window after dark that signalled the arrival of Arthur's new owl, Acorn, who would sit patiently on the tree in the maisonette's garden while Merlin wrote his reply. Merlin would watch Acorn swoop away over the tops of the flats and warehouses before closing his window and drifting off to sleep, his stomach full of warmth and a smile on his face. The routine was polished to perfection. 

So why, then, had Arthur's letters stopped coming? 

Their correspondence hadn't cut off abruptly, although Merlin would have preferred that. After three weeks of back-and-forth, alive with Arthur's morbid curiosity about muggle life and jobs, the writing had gone stale. His questions had turned perfunctory, the letters shorter and less vibrant, until they inspired a nauseating twist in Merlin's stomach whenever he opened them. 

And now it had been a week since Acorn last knocked at Merlin's window. 

With a heavy heart, Merlin turned down the alley to his home and chained his bike to the otherwise-useless curve of piping that stuck out of the concrete.

"Just in time!" Hunith called, sticking her head around the kitchen doorframe. Merlin saw that she was holding the telephone, stretched out to the limit of it wire. Merlin thought foolishly that Arthur might have phoned him, but then remembered that Arthur neither knew what a telephone was nor how to work one. "Harry's calling."

Merlin tried to pretend he wasn't disappointed and slid into a kitchen chair, taking the phone. Hunith had to duck beneath the wire to reach the kettle. 

"Are you on your own?" Merlin asked tentatively. There was a brief pause of breath on the other end in which Merlin imagined Harry peering down the corridors of a stuffy, sterile-clean house with starched white walls.

They had to be careful. As far as Harry's uncle and aunt were concerned, Merlin was a nice, ordinary boy called Matthew who used to go to the same school as Harry and frequently needed help with his maths. Their phone conversations were granted since, as Harry said, the Dursleys thought that "Matthew" might be a normalising influence on their degenerate nephew. 

"Yeah." Harry sounded both relieved and disturbed. Merlin let out a breath and glanced uneasily at the calendar that hung on the wall by the kettle. Harry only ever called on Wednesdays when Vernon Dursley was at work, and the only interruption Harry had to contend with was his cousin. 

"Are you okay?" Merlin asked instantly. "Do you need me and mam to come get you? Because we don't have a car, but I'm sure I''ve got some change for a bus fare and—"

"Merlin," Harry said, low-voiced and urgent. 

"What is it?"

Merlin listened with mounting surprise as Harry explained what he had seen in the garden hedge. Surprise and fear. After the events of last year at Hogwarts, Merlin had been hoping for a quiet summer holiday and a fresh start at school. 

"Who else knows?" Merlin asked once Harry had finished. He could almost feel Harry's flat stare down the phoneline. _Nobody_.

It was only natural that Harry came to Merlin after what they had been through together. Voldemort was fresh in both of their minds. 

"Listen, my aunt's cleaning – I’m supposed to be gardening, but..."

"Are you sure you don't want us to come get you?"

Harry paused. "I can't. I have to go." 

"But—" 

"I have to go," Harry said again. The line cut off. 

**⁂**

Merlin waited for Harry to phone again, but he didn't. He tried not to let it worry him – he had enough on his mind already – but it was impossible not to think about it every time he entered the kitchen and saw their phone. Learning that you were the reincarnation of a powerful sorcerer tended to give one a terrible complex about taking responsibility. It didn't help that Harry was a part of his supposed destiny. 

A week later, Merlin woke up to the sound of screeching at about eleven o clock at night. He staggered out of his bedroom, wand held aloft, and met Hunith on the stairs. The screaming was coming from the maisonette below them. 

Ms Chivers, their downstairs neighbour, had moved in a few months ago. She was elderly, and formidable in a way that reminded Merlin of Madam Pomfrey, and he couldn't imagine what might make her scream. He and Hunith spilled out into the narrow alley down the side of their house and found Ms Chivers in her nightgown, her iron grey coils of hair dusted with water. In her hands was a wet, feathered lump. 

Merlin's heart did a backflip. 

"What on earth—?" Hunith peered in the dim light at Ms Chivers. "Alicia, are you alright?"

"This—" she thrust out her hands so that Merlin could see the owl "—just came straight through my bedroom window. My poor roses, I just took the cuttings yesterday... finest vase, shattered. And the cat! Oh, the poor dear's had quite a fright. I haven't a clue what to do with it."

"I do," Merlin blurted. Ms Chivers squinted at him as if she hadn't known he was there – which, given that she wasn't wearing her glasses, was entirely possible. 

"They teach you things like that at your school, do they?"

"Um – something like that." Merlin glanced at Hunith, since she was so much faster at thinking under pressure. But Hunith was entranced by the owl, which she was now holding in her arms. Merlin could see its chest rising and falling. "We should get it inside."

"I'd call the nature people, only I don't have a phone."

"We'll do that, Ms Chivers," Merlin said. He didn't let out his breath until he and Hunith were back in their kitchen, the owl laid out on the table on a stack of towels. Merlin extracted the damp letter from around its leg. he could only be thankful that Ms Chivers hadn't noticed that particular incriminating detail. 

While Hunith made sure the owl was warmed, Merlin sank into a chair and began to read. His eyes grew wider and wider as he read Harry's tale of Dobby the House Elf and a daring escape in a flying car. He then read the letter aloud. 

"Bloody hell," Hunith said. She looked angry; angrier than she had been when she arrived at Hogwarts after Merlin's brush with death. 

"Mam?" Merlin asked, worried that maybe she didn't approve of him having friends who broke wizarding law. 

"That headmaster of yours..." she said darkly and shook her head, still absent-mindedly rubbing the old owl's chest. "Letting Harry go to people like that. It's criminal."

"I know." Merlin nervously smoothed out the parchment on the table. "But at least he's with the Weasleys now, mam. They're a good lot, from what I can tell. Ron’s nice."

Hunith studied him for a long time before sinking back in her chair and rubbing her eyes. 

"I'm sure you're right," she said, and busied herself with tending to the owl. The conversation was over. 

**⁂**

The owl returned to the Weasleys and Merlin's summer holiday wound to a gentle close. He worked, he went to the arcade with Will, he dug up carrots in his allotment — and he definitely _didn't_ think about the absence of Arthur's letters. 

(The loss was like the hole left behind by a tooth; he couldn't stop poking at it, even though he knew it would do no good.) 

Merlin told himself he was done with chaos and magic, at least for another week. He would have some normality before facing whatever new curve Hogwarts had to throw at him. 

But magic and chaos, it seemed, were not done with him. 

On the evening before Merlin was due to go to Diagon Alley, he received a special visit from Dobby the House Elf. 

The creature appeared on Merlin's bed with an almighty crack. Merlin yelped and almost toppled out of his chair, only just managing to catch himself. A pair of huge, green eyes stared at him from the gloom beyond his small circle of lamplight.

"You're… Dobby?" Merlin hazarded a guess. He doubted there were many huge-eared, green-eyed creatures visiting underage wizards. Dobby bowed until his nose touched the bedspread.

"You is Merlin Elised, most greatest of sorcerers. House elves knows you as—" Dobby lowered his voice, "— _Emrys,_ sir. I'm honoured."

Merlin resisted the urge to point out that everyone seemed to know him as Emrys in the magical world and took a deep breath.

"Harry told me about you," Merlin said, careful to keep his voice flat and neutral. Dobby's eyes widened.

"The great Harry Potter is talking about _me_?"

"Yes...?" Merlin hadn't meant it to sound like a question, but not even Harry's detailed letter could have prepared him for Dobby's fanaticism.

Merlin worried for a moment that Dobby might actually explode from excitement. He quivered and hopped on the spot before regaining control of himself.

"You is my last hope, Mr Emrys sir. Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts."

"And... why do you think _I_ could help you with that?"

"Because you is talking with Harry Potter on the _telephone_ ," Dobby said, pronouncing the word 'telephone' with a combination of effort and grandeur. Merlin was struck with the image of Dobby practising saying the word to himself in a mirror somewhere until he got it right.

“Dobby…” Merlin sucked the inside of his cheek, unable to look away from Dobby’s shining, hopeful eyes. Dobby stared back at him with complete solemnity.

Neither of them noticed the doorknob turning until it was too late.

A scream.

Merlin flinched and reached for a wand he didn’t have.

Dobby threw himself behind Merlin's overflowing laundry basket.

Hunith stood there with a bunch of carrots in her hands, staring open-mouthed at Dobby's ears, which protruded from top of the basket like windswept cabbage leaves.

"Who..." Hunith took a deep, steadying breath and lent against the doorframe before continuing. "Who's that?"

"Dobby," Merlin said once he could speak again. He pointed slowly between Hunith and Dobby, glad that his hand wasn’t shaking. "This is my mam. Mam, this is Dobby. He's the house elf Harry told us about."

Dobby crept out from behind the basket and bowed until Merlin worried he might fall over.

"I'm apologising most humbly, miss. Dobby didn't mean to scare anyone, miss."

"Okay. Okay." Hunith nodded to herself and put the carrots in the pocket of her apron. "Well, Dobby, you'd better come into the kitchen. I… think we need a cup of tea." She looked pointedly at Merlin.

"Dobby will do that right away." Dobby bowed again. Merlin and Hunith stared at him.

"Um. No, Dobby, _I'll_ make the tea," Merlin said. Dobby's eyes widened until they looked like they were going to take over his whole face. His lips and ears quivered silently.

"Nobody has ever – tea, like an equal – Dobby is having _tea_..." Dobby clasped his long-fingered hands together under his chin and nodded fervently.

In the kitchen, Dobby stood on a chair and dropped sugar lumps into his drink, pausing after each one as if expecting Hunith or Merlin to scold him. Seven sugar cubes later, Dobby sat on a stack of cookery books on top of his chair, holding the chipped mug as if it contained the elixir of life. Even with the stack of books to boost him up, Dobby was far too small for the table. His nose barely cleared the top of his mug.

"You is truly the greatest of witches, miss," he said, glowing with contentment. Hunith paused, perhaps too flustered to speak, before clearing her throat.

"Thank you, Dobby," she said gently. "But I'm... not a witch. Merlin here has all the magic in this family."

"Then, miss," Dobby replied, solemn and determined, "You is the greatest of muggles, even if – some – wizards are saying muggles is not equal."

Merlin was surprised to see a pink flush on Hunith's cheeks, but he didn't think she would appreciate a comment. He bit the inside of his cheek and turned his mug around between his palms, avoiding Dobby's shiny eyes.

"So, what brings you here then, Dobby?" Hunith asked. Her voice was impressively casual. Dobby's face fell.

"Harry Potter must not return to Hogwarts. There is terrible, terrible..." Dobby let out a sharp little sound of distress and shook his head.

"We know," Merlin said. "You told Harry there was a danger there he wouldn't be able to face."

"A terrible plot, Merlin Emrys. A most terrible scheme. If Harry Potter is returned to Hogwarts, he--" Dobby didn't seem able to finish. He gulped his tea and shivered as he swallowed, rocking to-and-fro.

"But he has to come back to school," Merlin said, perplexed. "Dumbledore can – I mean, we're all surrounded by teachers. Grown-ups who can do lots of magic to keep everyone safe. If he's with the Dursleys—"

"Then he will not be at Hogwarts," Dobby said with mounting insistence. Merlin feared that giving the house elf access to the sugar pot was, in hindsight, a bad idea. Dobby's little body was vibrating from the force of his emotional distress. "Hogwarts is not safe. It is not safe!"

"He's not safe with the Dursleys either," Hunith cut in. There was a steely edge to her tone that made Merlin tense.

Dobby's mouth clacked shut. He stared at Hunith as if she was a predator. Merlin's heart didn't know whether to break or sink; Dobby was obviously terrified, and he was still trying to be brave, but his idea of help would probably get Harry killed faster than anything else.

"Dobby..." Merlin made sure his voice was soft, the way he would speak to a cat or a small animal. "I can keep him safe."

The edge to Hunith's voice had grown into a definite warning. "Cariad, no—"

"I'm Emrys, right? It's my... destiny, or whatever. I'll make sure nothing bad happens to him at Hogwarts."

Dobby's ears wilted. He shook his head and pushed away his teacup.

"Ah, Merlin Emrys, sir. You is being so noble, but it will not be enough. Dobby is sorry you cannot help save Harry Potter's life."

Panic surged in Merlin. "Wait—"

But with a weary sigh and a sharp crack, Dobby vanished as suddenly as he had arrived.

Merlin turned slowly in his seat to meet his mam's gaze. She didn't look angry, just – sad. Worried. Her knuckles were white around her mug.

"You're a wonder, my boy," she said, shaking her head. "But you're too young for this."

"Mam..." But Merlin's throat had seized up. He couldn't get the words out.

Hunith rubbed her eyes, pushing her hair back from her face with both hands. Her knuckles were red, her hands dry and cracked from years of scrubbing and cleaning. There were a few streaks of grey in her hair that Merlin hadn't noticed before.

"Do you know what it was like, the first time I saw you do magic?"

Merlin shook his head. He had never heard this story before.

"We were living in flats then, before I'd saved up enough to get us a place here. I don't suppose you remember that little one bedroom place?"

Merlin swallowed thickly. Now that Hunith was talking, he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the rest. "…Vaguely?"

Hunith quirked a small smile. "You were barely walking. But oh, it was awful. The lift never worked, so I'd have to lug you and our shopping up seven flights of stairs.” Her expression turned grim. “The whole building'd shake when it stormed, and there was this one night – one awful, blustering night, our bedroom window exploded. Glass everywhere. I grabbed the duvet and put it over you, couldn't even think of protecting myself. And then..." she swallowed and leaned back in her chair, her breath trembling with the weight of the memory. "There was a shield of golden light protecting me. I was picking shards of glass out that bloody duvet for hours, but there wasn't a scratch on me. But you – you had a splinter sticking in your arm and a cut on your cheek."

Merlin's mouth fell open. He touched his cheek, the skin there smooth and unmarked, as if he could conjure up the missing memory. Hunith looked down at her long-cooled tea.

"Not even two years old, and already you were putting others before yourself."

"I didn't know what I was doing then," Merlin said.

Hunith fixed him with a hard stare. "But you knew what you were doing when you followed Arthur and Harry through that trapdoor, didn't you?"

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek and risked a brief nod. Hunith wasn't angry with him, but her worry and exhaustion were a million times worse. They hadn't spoken about what happened at the end of last year, putting the conversation aside by some unspoken agreement.

But now the agreement was broken. And Merlin didn't know what to do.

"I'm pleased you've got friends, of course, and I love what you've found at Hogwarts." Hunith placed one of her hands over his and looked him solemnly in the eye. "But I want to know my boy's going to come home."

Merlin swallowed down the jagged emotion rising in his throat and squeezed her hand. He couldn't make himself speak, but that was okay. Hunith seemed to understand.

"We should get dinner on," she said. "We've got to be up early to get to Diagon Alley."

So Merlin busied himself chopping carrots, and tried not to think about the daunting prospect of facing yet another nefarious plot at Hogwarts. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley gets a lot more turbulent than Merlin expected. (Although, at this point, Merlin really shouldn't be surprised).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took me longer than two weeks. I really had to wrestle with the bookshop part of this chapter (mainly because I didn't want to just... repeat all the dialogue from the books), and with the ending. I wrote the bulk of chapter three in the car earlier today though, and I'm quite happy with it, so that's something.  
>  **Content warnings** for allusions to Uther's controlling parenting.

Merlin and Hunith traipsed out of the valley in which Ealdor lay, both bundled up against a soggy, grey dawn. Behind them, the last bus stop on the main route was already obscured by sheets of mist. 

"Are you sure this is where Gaius said?" Merlin asked, tugging his scarf up over his nose.

"Yes," Hunith said, not for the first time. Merlin grumbled and followed in her footsteps. 

When Hunith had woken him at the pale rise of dawn, Merlin had expected them to make the long and gruelling trip to London by train. Instead, they were making an equally long and gruelling trip up a mountain in the opposite direction. Hunith hadn't been able to explain why they were doing this, because she didn't know either. 

They found Gaius sitting on a bench at the crest of the hill, heating bacon sandwiches on a small portable stove. The only other objects around him were his usual leather bag and a mouldering boot on the ground by the stove.

"Good... morning?" Merlin ventured, unsure what to make of this unusual set-up.

"Ah!" Gaius waved Hunith and Merlin over and patted the bench, which was magically dry. "Come on, we just have time for a quick sandwich and a hot drink before we have to go."

Merlin frowned. "Go where?"

"I've arranged a portkey straight to the Leaky Cauldron. No fussing around with the trains today." He pointed to the old boot. 

Too tired and hungry to push the matter, Merlin huddled deeper into his layers and focused on inhaling his sandwiches in silence. He was just starting to feel a little more warm and cheerful when Gaius leapt up. 

"Time to go," he said, vanishing the stove and the leftover food with a flick of his wand. Merlin stared down at his empty hands, in which a plastic mug of tea had been cradled mere seconds before. "Merlin, come on."

Gaius had one finger on the boot and was motioning for Merlin and Hunith to do the same. With a wary glance at one another, they followed suit. 

"And... now," Gaius said. 

And the world turned inside-out. 

Merlin landed on his backside on a concrete floor, half-sprawled over some sacks of potatoes. Hunith was crouching in wide-eyed silence beside a stack of crates, clearly still in the act of regaining her balance. She laughed shakily and released her hold on the boot's laces. 

"It is a bit rocky, isn't?" Gaius smiled wryly from where he was standing, calm and unruffled, with his arms loosely folded over his stomach. Merlin goggled at him. 

"Rocky?" He echoed. 

"A _bit_?" Hunith added as she helped Merlin get back on his feet.

Rubbing his lower back, Merlin decided he would rather sacrifice all of his earnings on a train fare than travel by portkey ever again. He followed Hunith and Gaius into the main room of the Leaky Cauldron; the room where he had first lain eyes on Harry Potter, hardly a year ago. So much had changed since then, but the Leaky Cauldron was the same as ever. Merlin's chest ached with some unidentifiable emotion. 

"You alright there, cariad?" Hunith asked. She was already at the door. Merlin shook himself and hurried after her, hoping that the daylight and magic of Diagon Alley would help clear his head. 

The plan was to go straight to Gringotts, exchange some muggle money for wizarding currency, and then head straight for the secondhand shops. But plans in the magical world, as Merlin was fast learning, tended to go awry.

"Merlin!"

Merlin looked up from his list of school supplies and caught sight of Ron, along with his brothers and father. Each Weasley was a different shade of worried: Ron seemed unsure whether to laugh or faint, Mr Weasley looked stressed, the twins were bemused, and Percy had the air of someone undergoing a great inconvenience. There was no sign of Harry. 

"Have you seen Harry?" Ron asked, hardly waiting until he was in comfortable earshot. "We think he's got lost in the floo network."

"The flu?" Merlin frowned. 

"Yeah, he was right behind us, but he's never travelled by floo before and—" 

The rest of Ron's sentence was drowned out by the rushing in Merlin's ears. He swayed, and likely would have sat on his backside there in the middle of the street if Hunith hadn’t put a steadying hand on his arm. He could hear her voice asking, “What’s the… floo network? How could he’ve gotten lost in it?” but couldn’t parse Ron’s answer.

 _A great danger_ , Dobby had said. _You will not be enough_.

“Merlin?” A hand on his arm. “Cariad? Hey—”

Merlin’s lungs expanded for what felt like the first time in hours. He tore his eyes away from the cobblestones and saw Harry approaching, practically hanging on Hagrid’s heels. The relief that exploded in Merlin's chest was so strong it almost hurt. 

"...Knockturn alley," Hagrid was saying. It meant nothing to Merlin, but Ron and the twins looked like they might burst with envy. Hagrid then turned to Merlin and shook his whole arm in a warm grip. "Good teh see yeh, Merlin. Fang'll be glad to have yeh back. And this is yeh mum?"

Merlin watched in bemusement as Hagrid took Hunith's hands in one of his. "Got teh be off. I'll see you lot for tea at Hogwarts!" And just like that, Hagrid was once again swallowed up by the bustling crowd. 

"He was..." Hunith blinked after him. "Friendly."

Merlin grinned. Hagrid's vigorous shaking hadn't been comfortable, but it had successfully taken Merlin's mind off gloomier things. He turned and gestured towards Mr Weasley and Ron. "And these are the Weasleys – um, most of them, anyway. The people Harry stayed with." 

Mr Weasley led the charge up the steps into Gringotts, chattering a mile a minute about bus routes and rubber ducks, and almost bouncing at the prospect of meeting yet more muggles inside. Ron exchanged knowing glances with Harry and Hermione, and the three of them dropped back to Merlin’s side.

“He’s obsessed,” Ron muttered. “It’s mental.”

Merlin shook his head, grinning. “Mam’s loving it,” he said as Hunith explained the purpose of the Yellow Pages with occasional backup from Hermione’s parents.

Inside, Mr Weasley followed the Eliseds and the Grangers to the muggle money exchange. He was apparently unaware of Mrs Weasley’s disapproving gaze, but Merlin got the feeling that if Molly Weasley was ever truly displeased with him, Mr Weasley would drop everything and listen to her.

"And... where do you get this money?” He asked, peering over Merlin’s shoulder as Merlin handed his savings to the goblin behind the counter. “I know muggles have jobs, of course, but—"

" _Arthur_ ," said Mrs Weasley with pointed impatience. 

"I have a job in a flea market," Merlin replied, biting his cheek so he wouldn't laugh at the expression on Mrs Weasley's face. 

"A flea market?" Mr Weasley repeated with obvious awe. "And does that have anything to do with fleas?"

Over Mr Weasley's shoulder, Harry and Hermione broke into a fit of giggles. Merlin had to fight to keep a straight face. 

"Um, no. It's a place where people sell secondhand things – clothes, toys, anything they have lying around. I mean, the place I work at isn't _really_ a market, it's just called that..." Merlin trailed off, unsure how to cope with Mr Weasley's obvious interest. "Mam works in a hospital," he added, hoping to shift some of the attention away from himself. Mr Weasley's eyes widened in a very Dobby-esque manner. 

"Really? A muggle hospital! And do you—"

"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley said again, more sharply, and Mr Weasley allowed himself to be led away with the rest of his family. 

Afterwards, Hunith suggested that she take Mr Weasley and the Grangers for a drink while everyone else did their shopping. Merlin could have sworn that Mrs Weasley mouthed ‘thank you’ to a grinning Hunith as their two groups parted. Mr and Mrs Granger also looked relieved at the prospect of going for something as normal as a drink, even it if it was in the company of a man who thought that postage stamps were fascinating.

While Harry brought ice creams for his friends, Merlin made his excuses and slipped away to the Apothecary. Snape had enclosed a list of ingredients that Merlin would need for his remedial lessons – lessons which Merlin knew Harry would view with the utmost suspicion.

"Ugh, I hate chopping those up,” said a voice directly over Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin spun around, and his face broke into a grin. "Morgana!"

"Hi." Morgana's expression softened to a genuine smile as she gave Merlin a hug. She was wearing muggle clothes, including a pair of stout boots and a large rucksack. She looked completely at ease, but – Merlin knew her well enough by now. Something wasn’t quite right. He looked down at her boots again, then around to see if there was any sign of Arthur. Morgana must have noticed him looking; the smile slipped off her face. "You'll have questions, I suppose." 

"Yeah."

Morgana glanced around the shop. "Outside," she said. 

Merlin paid for his ingredients and followed Morgana out into the daylight. Harry and Ron were goggling at something in the window of the magical sports shop further up the alley while Hermione loitered impatiently. Morgana led Merlin into a little alcove between two shops. 

"Uther's gone completely off the rails." The sneer in Morgana's voice made Merlin uncomfortable. "He's suddenly terrified of the press - watching our owl post like a hawk and jumping a mile every time me or Arthur mention talking to anyone."

"He isn't letting you send letters?" Merlin gaped at her, stunned. 

"Oh, he isn't stopping us," Morgana said darkly. "But Arthur's so bloody desperate to please him. It's nuts." 

"You – you snuck out to come here, didn't you?"

Morgana smirked. "Yup. Uther's going to order all our supplies by owl post, but he's at some urgent secret meeting today, so…" she gestured to herself and the alley. "I'll find someone who needs the extra supplies. I don't want him choosing everything for me."

"But how'd you get here?"

Morgana's smirk widened. "Same way I got to Gwen's on Christmas."

“The train?”

“No.” Morgana rolled her eyes, sarcasm as quick and sharp as ever. “I got a flying carpet.”

Merlin stared at her with a mixture of fondness and disbelief. "The train. Of bloody course you did."

“Uther and Arthur might think integrating with muggle society is a waste of time, but I don’t.” Morgana shrugged. “Better for sneaking out and being a rebellious ward.”

"Merlin!" Hermione called, hurrying toward them. "We're getting stationary next – oh." She broke off when she noticed Morgana, momentarily flummoxed.

After her exploits at the end of the last school year, Morgana had gained infamy as the Slytherin who hexed half of her own house. In reality, she had only used a body-bind curse on Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Malfoy – but her reputation still bounded ahead of her, as fearsome as Fluffy the three-headed dog. Merlin suspected that was exactly how Morgana liked it. 

"Hermione. Hi," Morgana said, warmth springing into her tone just a bit too fast to be natural. Hermione seemed to buy it though, because she relaxed her fretful grip on her bag strap. 

"We're going to get stationary and then head to Flourish and Blott's. Want to come?" Merlin asked. 

Relief and gratitude flickered across Morgana's face before she said, quite casually, "Sounds good."

As they followed Hermione to the stationary shop, Morgana briefly took Merlin's hand and squeezed it. He squeezed back, catching her eye. 

"You don't have to do everything alone to be a rebellious child, you know?" He said to her in an undertone. Morgana rolled her eyes, but her smile was fond. 

⁂

By the time they reached Flourish and Blott's, Merlin's arms were starting to ache from carrying around his supplies. With the aid of Morgana's bulky rucksack, he, Ron, Hermione and Harry pushed their way through the unusually large crowd into the shop.

Merlin found Hunith standing with Mrs Weasley and Ginny in a long queue. She had a plastic takeaway cup of tea cradled to her chest with one hand and was frowning over a book in the other. ‘A Break with a Banshee’ said the title on the book’s spine.

“Any good?” Merlin had to go on tiptoes to see the front cover over her shoulder.

"I'd've killed to read something as trashy as this at school," was the first thing she said. "This lot looks like a laugh."

Hermione gaped at her. "Trashy?" She repeated, a bit too shrilly. Merlin caught sight of Ron mouthing 'uh-oh' over Hermione's shoulder, and swiftly stepped in. Or, he would have stepped in. 

If Gilderoy Lockhart himself hadn't chosen that moment to notice Harry. 

"Uh-oh," Ron said again, this time with more weight, as Harry was ushered up to the front. Merlin watched him go, torn between sympathy for Harry's plight and amusement at the expression on Harry's face. 

A hush fell as Lockhart spoke, announcing his new role as Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. Ron, Merlin and Morgana each shared an incredulous glance, but Hermione had such an enraptured expression on her face that none of them dared make a comment. 

"He's really making you read all his own books?" Hunith raised her eyebrows. 

"Of course!" Hermione burst out. Her voice was almost smothered by the uproar in the room. "He has to teach what he knows, doesn't he? And he knows so much!"

Merlin privately agreed with Hunith – it was hard to take anyone so shiny and glamorous seriously – but he knew how much Hermione loved her books. So, he said the first thing that came to mind. 

"I suppose anything's better than a bloke with Voldemort sticking out the back of his head, isn't it?" And effectively sucked all lighthearted banter out of the conversation. 

Feeling intensely wrongfooted, Merlin made his way over to where Harry had escaped from Lockhart's clutches.

“Bet you loved that,” said the voice of Draco Malfoy. Merlin groaned and turned around.

“Don’t you have anything better to do?” Merlin asked, exasperated. Draco, who apparently hadn’t noticed Merlin’s presence, faltered. Merlin ploughed on undeterred; his smile was too cheerful. “Why don’t you bugger off, and let’s all just… enjoy an afternoon shopping?”

"You can back out, Elised," Draco said. Was it Merlin's imagination, or did Draco's retort lack some spark? They hadn't exactly parted as friends last year – but Merlin didn't think they were enemies, either. He stared Draco down and felt a little rill of hope run through him. Maybe this situation could be defused nicely, after all. 

But Merlin's next reply shrivelled up in his throat and dropped like a stone into his stomach. He watched in sick apprehension as a man who could only be Lucius Malfoy entered the scene. He moved with a graceful poise reminiscent of Morgana’s – but unlike Morgana, he used his high-society poise as a weapon instead of a shield.

“What an… interesting little gathering,” Mr Malfoy drawled, letting his gaze linger on each of their group in turn. “The Boy Who Lived and the little traitor who somehow wormed his way into Slytherin.” He studied Merlin coldly.

“Don’t all snakes… worm their way places?” Merlin managed, painfully aware how weak it sounded. Mr Malfoy looked at Merlin for a moment longer, before his attention snapped to Ginny’s cauldron. He picked out a book.

“Oh dear,” he said in that awful tone reserved by the privileged for the people they stepped on. “Even with cutting all these corners, it seems you’ll still go hungry to pay for this. Won’t you, Arthur?”

Merlin thought for one bizarre moment that Mr Malfoy was talking to Arthur

(his Arthur, said a voice in his head, even though that notion was entirely ludicrous)

before his brain registered the presence of Mr Weasley.

"Stealing now are we, Mr Malfoy?" Morgana appeared at Merlin's side with a cutting smile; her polite tone was drenched in poison. "Shall we add that to the list of foul and devious ways you've made your money?"

Mr Malfoy's tone, if possible, became even colder. "Miss Pendragon."

Merlin reached for Morgana's sleeve, too late. She stepped into Mr Malfoy's space without any sign of hesitation. It didn't matter that she was a child, or that she was shorter than him by at least two feet – what she lacked in stature, she made up for in steel-cold contempt. 

"At least Mr Weasley is a good, hard-working man, which is more than can be said for you, you weasel-nosed bastard." 

The whole bookshop went deathly silent.

"Is this man bothering you?" Hunith asked, stepping up to Morgana's side. Mr Malfoy looked at her like she was something disgusting tracked in off the street – his eyes dragged over her obviously muggle attire, her cracked hands, her well-darned sweater. Merlin boiled with rage on her behalf, but Hunith just stared straight back. 

"No," Morgana said. "He was just leaving." 

"You really are determined to sink lower than your father, aren't you, Miss Pendragon? Although—" Mr Malfoy lifted one finger as if all the tension in the room was suspended from it. A little, cruel smile twitched up one corner of his mouth. "No man who gets cuckholded by his dearest friend deserves to be called a father. It seems not only was he incapable of keeping his honour and his wealth, but also his wife."

Merlin waited for Morgana to whip up something equally cutting. But she didn't. Her shoulders were shaking. Mr Malfoy regarded her with deep satisfaction and put a hand on Draco's shoulder. 

"Come, Draco," Mr Malfoy said imperiously when his son didn't move at once. Draco was looking down at the floor, his cheeks stained a deep, mortified red. "And you—" He shoved Ginny's book into the cauldron again. "Take this. It's the best your father can give you." 

To Merlin's surprise and horror, Hunith stepped forwards. "Mr Malfoy?" She called. 

And threw the contents of her teacup at him. 

Lucius Malfoy turned on her. Milky tea dripped down the lower half of his face and onto the floor as he pulled out his wand, his body quivering with ill-contained fury.

"Lucius, if you utter a single spell—" Mr Weasley drew his own wand. "If you harm a muggle, I'll – I'll arrest you. This shop is full of witnesses; there'll be no wriggling out of it."

Mr Malfoy raked his eyes over their group, dried himself with a wordless spell, and swept out of the shop. He didn't even stop to hold the door for Draco, who barely caught it with his hands before scurrying after his father’s retreating figure.

"Well," said Hunith in a too-chipper voice, putting her hands on Morgana's shoulders. "I think we could all do with a hot drink."

⁂

"You threw tea at Lucius Malfoy?" Gaius repeated for the third time. "At Lucius. Malfoy."

"I did." Hunith dropped several cubes of sugar into a cup of tea and shoved the drink into Morgana's hands. "Repeating it won't change that it happened."

The four of them were sitting in a little café opposite Charing Cross Station. Afternoon sun poured through the windows, but Merlin still felt cold. He poked at his slice of Victoria Sponge and avoided staring at Morgana's face. 

"But—" Gaius closed his eyes and sighed. "Frankly, I would expect that from Merlin, not you."

"Hey!" Merlin looked up. Hunith smiled at him knowingly over the top of her coffee cup. 

"He has a point, cariad."

"He..." Merlin looked from Gaius to Hunith, then sagged. "Yeah, okay. He does. I was pretty shocked, mam." 

"You shouldn't have done that," Morgana said, barely lifting her lips from the rim of her teacup. "Not on my behalf."

"Nonsense." Hunith patted Morgana's hand. "Drink up. You're not going home until I see a bit more colour in your cheeks."

Morgana sipped her drink, her hair hiding her face. Merlin thought about a bathroom at night, Morgana admitting _It's literally what he thinks_ through her tears. He wondered what Lucius Malfoy had been thinking as he left the shop. 

Morgana's eyes flickered up and caught his. Merlin looked away. 

"You know who he reminded me of?" Hunith said abruptly. "That old prick of a landlord, Kanen. Magic or not, men like that are all cut from the same cloth. They could do with having a hot beverage thrown in their face from time to time."

"Hunith," Gaius said sternly. "Lucius Malfoy is a dangerous man."

"Yes." Hunith appeared to give that some thought. Then her eyes snapped up to meet Gaius'. Her expression was immovable. "Kanen was too, until the police came and carted him off." 

Gaius let out an aggrieved sigh. 

"Besides—" Hunith tapped her spoon on her mug and set it down deliberately. "A grown man speaking to a child like that is inexcusable."

"I can't disagree with you there." Gaius rubbed his forehead. 

"Good."

Silence crept across the table. Morgana pushed her cup away. 

"I should go." She held her rucksack in her lap, twisting the straps around and around her fingers. "Is it okay if Merlin walks me outside, Miss Elised?" 

"Sure."

Leaving Gaius and Hunith to pick over their argument about Lucius Malfoy, Merlin walked Morgana across the road. They hesitated just outside the entrance.

"Lucius is planning something," Morgana said. "People are easier to read when they're emotional, so I thought I could—" she snapped the rest of that sentence off and shrugged. "It doesn't matter. The point is, Lucius wants something horrible to happen at Hogwarts. I've been dreaming about a monster and this… huge, dark room, somewhere underground. There’s writing on the walls in red – maybe blood. I’m not...” she put a hand to her forehead, then kicked at a discarded drink can. “A camera. A mirror. A woman bound in a chair. I wish these bloody visions would make more sense.”

"Do you think I should've helped Dobby stop Harry from going back to Hogwarts?" Merlin asked, chewing his lower lip. Morgana looked at him long and hard. 

At last she said, "I'd stop Arthur from going back, if I could."

“You think it’ll be that bad?”

“I don’t know, Merlin.” Morgana tilted her face up to the greying sky and shook her head. “What worries me is that none of this is part of why Uther’s so uptight lately – more than usual, I mean. Whatever’s coming is going to be a lot.”

"We'll work it out. We did last year." Merlin nudged her arm and tried to smirk. “And if nothing else, at least Lockhart’ll give us all a laugh.”

Morgana's eyebrows drew together, but all she said was "I need to go. See you soon."

Merlin watched Morgana until the crowd swallowed her up. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nimeuh makes her appearance. It goes down like a lead balloon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've had that end part of the chapter written since I was halfway through beast of burden, so I'm very excited to finally be releasing it into the wild.  
> Also, much love and hugs to everyone who's been commenting on both this and abob! There's been a recent uptick in comments lately, and although I haven't had much time to reply (I've only got weekends to dedicate to fanfic/Ao3 stuff atm), I've read every single one over and over. They make me feel warm and fuzzy anew each time x

Merlin was hardly through the barrier to platform 9 and 3/4 before a flying mass of curly hair and strong arms slammed into him. He didn’t get a look at her face, but he didn’t need to – Gwen’s crushing hug was identifier enough. She pulled back, beaming and breathless, hands on her hips. 

"I missed you in Diagon Alley," Gwen said, only half scolding. The charmed dragon pin in her hair shivered to life, busily trying to gather as many loose curls out of face as it could with tail and teeth.

"Probably for the best," Merlin answered, "Mam threw a cup of tea at Lucius Malfoy and Harry got lost in the floo."

Gwen lightly smacked Merlin's shoulder. "You always do the fun things when I'm not there." 

"It wasn't fun." Merlin tried to sound affronted, but his face was determined to crack into a smile. The memory of Lucius Malfoy’s startled expression, just before he managed to regain his composure, had been the source of much laughter around the Elised’s kitchen table.

" _I_ thought it was fun," Hunith said, then paused and wrinkled her nose in thought. "Well, satisfying, at least. Where's your dad got to?"

"He went in search of coffee. He said he wouldn't be long, but—"

Molly Weasley burst through the golden gates, wielding her luggage trolley like a battering ram. Gwen and Hunith both reached to haul Merlin back at the same time, and all three of them surged back against a stack of unused trolleys. Oblivious, Mrs Weasley carried on, towing Ginny behind her and muttering about lateness.

“And there’s Tom,” Hunith remarked, pointing to the barrier as Tom hurtled through, narrowly avoided tripping over a little first-year, and made a beeline towards them. He hardly gave himself time to push a paper coffee cup into Hunith's hands before sweeping Gwen into a big hug. 

" _Dad_ ," she grumbled, but Merlin noticed that she didn't fight him too hard. 

"There," Tom said, pulling away. "I was worried I wouldn't have time to give you a proper goodbye. Now, have you got everything? Your lunch, your trolley money? Your owl—?”

Eagle screeched in answer. Gwen mustered up a half-hearted scowl. “Yes, dad, I’ve got everything.”

“What about—”

“Tom,” Hunith interrupted him, gently chiding. “They need to get on the train, or it’ll leave without them.”

Smiling gratefully at Hunith, Gwen picked up her luggage and started for the train. Merlin made to follow, but Hunith touched his shoulder. Her expression was serious.

“You remember what we talked about, cariad?” She asked, so softly Merlin had to strain to hear her over the last-minute bustle of the station. He swallowed. “I want to have my boy home, okay?”

“I know.” Merlin took her hand and squeezed it. Her skin was dry and cracked; her fingers still warm from holding the coffee. “I’ll be careful, mam. I promise.”

Hunith’s eyes tensed. “Can you promise that, though?”

Merlin sucked in a sharp breath. Behind them, the train whistled her shrill warning. No, he couldn’t; and he couldn’t lie, either. Somewhere, over the rushing in Merlin’s ears, Gwen was calling to him.

“Love you,” he said – and dived into the crowd after Gwen.

“You okay?” Gwen asked as he caught up with her.

Merlin gave her his best disarming grin and nodded. “C’mon, let’s find a seat.”

Merlin and Gwen braved a sea of jostling elbows and swinging bags down the aisles of the Hogwarts Express, until they found a compartment occupied by Ginny Weasley and a pale-haired girl that Merlin didn't recognise. 

"Can we sit here?" Merlin asked, breathless and eager to get off his feet. Gwen pressed herself against the doorframe of the compartment, holding Eagle's cage above her head to keep her owl from being knocked about in the last-minute rush for seats. 

"Sure," Ginny said, sweeping a small pile of Quidditch magazines off one of the seats. The compartment's other occupant hadn't looked up yet; she sat frowning vaguely at a passage in the Daily Prophet, twirling an escaped strand of blond hair around her finger. The rest of her hair was stuffed into a haphazard bun on top of her head, apparently for no other purpose than to hold her wand as she turned the newspaper around. 

Glancing at eachother, Gwen and Merlin slipped into the seats opposite one another, nearest the door.

Ginny introduced herself to Gwen, then pointed to the other girl. "This is Luna Lovegood. I don't know you, though."

"Gwen Smith." Gwen and Ginny shook hands. 

"You know," said Luna, apparently oblivious to the conversation going on around her. "History of Magic is a tool used by the Ministry to cover up the existence and cultural significance of flurgles?"

Three heads swivelled to stare at her. Unruffled by this – or maybe unaware of the attention – Luna dragged her eyes away from the newspaper and gazed unblinkingly back. Merlin bit the inside of his cheek. 

"What... are you reading?" Gwen asked, sounding like she didn't want to know, but couldn't stop herself from asking. 

"It's research, of course. Daddy says if you want to fight the lies, you have to read them first." Luna tapped the front of the paper with her bitten nails. 

"Let's see," said Ginny, holding out her hand. Luna let her take the newspaper, watching with detached curiosity. "Is this it here? ' _Albus Dumbledore often sparks controversy with his choices regarding the education of our young witches and wizards, but sources from inside Hogwarts suggest that his latest choice of staff might prove to be his downfall_...'."

Merlin frowned. "Lockhart didn't strike me as great, but he can't be _that_ bad." 

"No, it says here that Dumbledore was looking for a new History of Magic Teacher..." Ginny frowned, tucking her hair back behind her ear as she flipped over the page. "And that's it."

"It doesn't say who?" Gwen leaned across the gap between their seats, and Ginny turned the newspaper around so she could read it, too. Remembering how badly it went down last time, Merlin bit his tongue to keep from saying that nothing could be as bad as Quirrel. 

"Not surprising though, is it?" Merlin shrugged. "Binns puts everyone to sleep."

"Except Hermione," Gwen said. 

"Except Hermione," Merlin agreed. 

"Perhaps it will be the Grey Lady." Luna had tucked her knees up to her chest, and was staring out of the window. Merlin still didn't think he had seen her blink yet. "She's the Ravenclaw ghost, you know?"

"History of Magic doesn't _have_ to be taught by a ghost." Ginny pointed out; there was a dry, derisive edge in her voice that would have made Fred and George weep with pride. 

Luna just hummed noncommittally and said, "Ghosts are echoes of history that would otherwise be lost forever." which Merlin thought made more sense than anything else she had said since he arrived in the compartment. 

While Gwen and Ginny bartered with Chocolate Frog cards, Merlin listened to Luna earnestly describing what she thought flurgles looked like. Occasionally he would turn his sketchbook around to show her the result and she, with the utmost seriousness and care, corrected him on the anatomy of the invisible creatures. 

Merlin decided that he _definitely_ liked Luna Lovegood. You never knew what was going to come out of her mouth, and it didn't matter if what she said sounded like total bollocks, because she believed every word. She was certain that she was going to be in Ravenclaw, but Merlin thought that Gryffindor would have suited her, too: there was bravery in being so unapologetically weird. 

Shortly after the food trolley had been and gone, a commotion in the aisle outside ripped Merlin's attention away from his drawing. He heard a familiar voice shout, "Oi, Arthur! I've found him!" and then Gawain hurtled into the compartment. 

And there, approaching with a touch more restraint, was Arthur. 

Merlin didn't know what he had expected. For Arthur to look pale and thin, perhaps - washed-out, like someone recovering from an illness? Or haunted, or tired, or stressed. Not this, though: his hair burnished and his skin tanned, a smile on his face that could rival the sun. Merlin would have said that he felt his heart stop, but that was too dramatic, and he didn't know why he was being dramatic about Arthur _bloody_ Pendragon. 

"Didn't realise you'd lost me," Merlin said once he'd managed to un-stick his tongue from the roof of his mouth. 

"We were waiting around the station for you," Arthur said, chiding and imperious. 

"Oh, uh, yeah..." Merlin looked down sheepishly. "I was late." 

Arthur rolled his eyes, smiling in a way that might have been mocking - but also, strangely, gentle. "Of course you were." His eyes fell on Merlin's sketchbook. "What... is that?"

"A flurgle," Luna said. "I'm teaching him what they look like. They're invisible, you know?"

Arthur looked like he was about to make a disparaging remark, so Merlin kicked his leg. They grinned at eachother. And, for a while, everything was okay. 

⁂

Merlin was listening to Arthur telling him about his trip to Italy as they walked up the path out of Hogsmead station, when Gwen grabbed his sleeve.

"Merlin!" she called above the chatter of students, pulling him to one side. "Look."

Merlin followed her gaze, surprised. Hermione was standing to one side of the path, bobbing up and down as she watched the winding snake of students leaving the station. Alone. Her face was pale and pinched. 

"Gwen! Merlin!" Hermione sounded torn between relief and desperation as she saw them approaching. Merlin drew in breath to ask her what was wrong, but Hermione steam-rollered over him, talking at top speed. "Have you seen Ron and Harry? I looked down the whole train for them, every compartment, and they weren't there. Which makes no sense, because I asked Percy and _he_ said that they were all together at the barrier, so they should have been on the train, shouldn't they?"

Merlin blinked at Hermione, his brain back in Diagon Alley, with Ron asking _Have you seen Harry?_ in a tone of voice similar to the one Hermione was using now. He sucked in a sharp breath. 

"They must have been on the train," he said. His mouth felt numb. 

Together, he, Gwen and Hermione turned to watch the last few stragglers coming up the path. 

"Come on you three," said an older student wearing a prefect's badge. Merlin recognised him from Slytherin. "Onto the carriages."

"But we can't find our friend," Hermione protested. The prefect looked at her flatly, his lips taking on an unamused quirk. 

"You don't _need_ to travel in packs, you know?" His tone was dripping with bored sarcasm as he looked at each of them in turn. "There's nobody else back there, anyway. All the carriages are cleared."

Hermione and Merlin both looked nervously back. The prefect was right; they could hear the Express puffing her way out of the station, which stood dark and empty in the moonlight. Gwen cleared her throat. 

"Maybe we missed them?" She offered, sounding a bit too hopeful. Or maybe that was desperation. Merlin had seen an expression like that on her face after his supposed clash with a troll's club. 

Merlin swallowed down the twisting, apprehensive feeling that was crawling up his throat, and nodded. 

"Yeah," he said. "We must've missed them."

The prefect herded them onto the last carriage, looking none too pleased about it, and they trundled up to the castle in tense silence. Hermione was twisting and un-twisting a length of her around her finger, making it bounce out even more. Merlin sat still, too still, and tried to convince himself that nothing bad could have happened in the middle of King's Cross Station. 

(They'd said that nothing bad could happen at Hogwarts, too. Arthur had scars to prove them wrong).

By the time they reached the castle, Merlin was lightheaded and clammy. He said goodbye to Hermione and Gwen with great reluctance and traipsed across the already-crowded hall. 

"Merlin!" Morgana waved, patting a space next to her. Judging by the looks she was giving their fellow Slytherins, she had saved it just for him. Despite himself, Merlin smiled as he slipped onto the bench. "Where've you been?"

"Helping Hermione look for Harry and Ron," Merlin muttered, aware that Draco was sitting almost opposite, currently in a whispered conversation with Blaise Zabini. Morgana frowned, but was prevented from asking anything else by the expectant hush that fell across the room. 

The Sorting had begun. 

As the Hat sang its song, Merlin cast his eyes across the Hall. He saw Gwen at the Hufflepuff table, watching the Sorting with her full attention; Arthur and Gawain at the Gryffindor table, Gawain apparently mocking Gilderoy Lockhart's dazzling grin; but still, no sign of Harry or Ron. 

The Staff table looked empty, too. Snape was nowhere to be seen, McGonagall was standing by the first years, and there was a vacant seat that Merlin could only presume should have been occupied by the new History of Magic teacher. As the last of the new students joined their houses, McGonagall disappeared through a side door, casting a final glance at the Gryffindor table as she left. 

The twisting feeling in Merlin's stomach worsened.

"It is my great pleasure," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet, "To announce that we will be joined by two new members of staff this year. First, Professor Gilderoy Lockhart—" there was an uproar of unclear origin. Some excitement, Merlin thought, and a healthy dose of derision. Dumbledore allowed the ruckus to die down, a patient smile on his face. Lockhart continued to beam out at the students with that unsettling, maniacal grin. 

"Very excited to be here!" Lockhart announced. Merlin could have sworn that Professor Sprout, who was sitting next to him, rolled her eyes. "I'm sure we'll have an excellent time together. I bet you didn't think you'd ever be so lucky as to have the real, magical me as your teacher after your last Professor."

Muttering. Some unsurety. A few strained laughs. Lockhart seemed oblivious to it, but Dumbledore stepped in swiftly. 

"Our next teacher," Dumbledore continued, his face growing serious, "has been the subject of much speculation, as I am sure you're all aware. Her situation is certainly unusual, but I ask that you treat her with all the sensitivity and respect as you would afford to myself or any of your other teachers."

("Does he expect us to _respect_ that golden buffoon?" Someone further down the table muttered.)

"It is my great delight to announce that we will be joined by the esteemed Professor Llewelyn."

Silence. Terrible, breathless silence. Merlin looked around, noting the wide-eyed expressions on many of his peers' faces. 

There was a creak of hinges, amplified by the tension, and a woman walked into the aisle between the tables. She was thin, as if she had been ill for some time, but she held herself with steel and ice. Merlin could have sworn her saw slight, amused smile tucked into one corner of her red-painted lips. But then she had passed him, and was mounting the steps to the teacher's table. When she turned back to face the sea of stunned faces, her expression was smooth as marble. 

The Great Hall's stillness swelled with whispers. Everywhere, heads were turning and mouths moving. Dumbledore cleared his throat, but nobody paid him any attention. 

"Professor Llewelyn? — _Nimeuh_ Llewelyn?"

"Is she—?" 

"He wouldn't..."

"Oh my god."

Merlin turned to Morgana, a question on the tip of his tongue. And froze. Her face was as white as a sheet. 

"What?" Merlin whispered. Morgana didn't seem to hear him; she was looking at something else. He followed her gaze across the hall to the Gryffindor table. 

Arthur caught Merlin's eye at once. He wasn't whispering with all the rest. He sat, stiff-shouldered, staring down at his plate. Gawain had a hand on Arthur's arm. 

Morgana stood up. 

Concerned now, Merlin sharpened his voice. "Morgana, _what_?" 

Morgana didn't answer. She crossed the aisle between the tables, hooked her arm around Arthur's shoulders, lifted him to his feet, and guided him out of the hall. Heads turned to follow them as they left, their names leaping from mouth to mouth. The doors slammed behind them. 

"You don't know, do you?" Draco drawled. Merlin startled and turned around, wary but curious. 

"Know what?" 

Draco smirked. "Our new Professor was in Azkaban," he said smartly, "for the murder of Igraine Pendragon."


	4. Chapter 4

Compared to the buzz of a convicted murderer coming to teach at Hogwarts, Harry and Ron’s arrival by flying car was nothing. There was some muttering about it, of course – the news that a blue Ford Anglia had been seen flying over Oxford spread fast, accompanied by Draco’s gleeful speculation about what punishment its underage drivers might face. Merlin just rolled his eyes.

“You’d get bored if they were expelled,” Merlin said as he moved with the line of Slytherins heading to the dungeons.

“Shut up, Elised,” Draco snapped, and shouldered past him to catch up with Greengrass and Zabini.

Merlin took himself to a quiet corner of the common room, letting the chatter wash over him as he pulled a book out of his bag. Although new to Merlin, _Monmouth’s Best Bestiary_ was ancient. It had probably been written two or three centuries ago according to Gaius, who had gifted it to Merlin on his twelfth birthday that summer. Despite the faded leather cover, the pages within were lathered with preservative spells, and the illustrations were as crisp and vibrant as if they had been painted yesterday.

Quiet conversations buzzed around him. There was, unsurprisingly, talk of the flying car and of Nimueh’s arrival – but also talk of smaller, simpler things. Quidditch, summer parties, how to secure the Hogwarts Gobstones Title for the tenth year in a row. Some older students were debating the merits of transfiguring an armchair into a settee. A set of particularly aggressive chess pieces bickered with one another while the players traded chocolate frog cards. Merlin glanced at the argumentative pieces, unable to stop himself from thinking about the mutilated corpse of a White Queen, her dead marble eyes watching him as he ran past, desperately hoping he wasn’t too late—

 _No_.

Merlin clutched the _Bestiary_ close to his chest and took a deep breath. He would not let that memory in, not when there were better things to think about.

“Was she a… you know, a _Dead Eater_?”

A voice close by made Merlin start. He turned to see the newly sorted first years gathered around Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass, both of whom looked absolutely delighted by the attention.

“ _Death_ Eater, Heather,” hissed a boy with cropped russet-red hair and thick glasses, elbowing the girl who sat next to him. _Azikiwe Adamantine_ , Merlin remembered. The boy’s glasses had slipped off his nose into his dinner when he sat down at the table, quaking with excitement as he announced that his wizard father hadn’t gone to a magic school and that he was going to make his parents die with pride.

Pansy and Daphne exchanged a meaningful glance; what that meaning was, however, Merlin couldn’t be certain.

“Yes,” Pansy said, too quickly, just as Daphne answered “No.”

That piqued Merlin’s interest. He leaned against the arm of his chair, pretending to examine an exquisitely detailed drawing of a cockatrice as he eavesdropped. 

“Daphne—”

Ignoring Pansy, Daphne continued, “I think the Death Eaters _wish_ she was one of them, but really they’re scared of her.”

Heather and Adamantine stared at Daphne with matching expressions of wide-eyed shock.

“ _Blimey_ ,” Adamantine breathed. He looked like he was about to burst. The three other first years shifted in their seats and moved away, huddling together and paying too close attention to the décor in the room. They had the bearing of purebloods; this conversation must have felt blasphemous to them.

“Uther Pendragon claimed she killed his wife as a retaliation from the Dark Lord,” Daphne said, obviously aware of the effect she was having and revelling in it. “But the Death Eaters they caught after the War denounced her because they were terrified of her – of what she might do, if she ever got out. I heard daddy say so once.”

“Don’t spread rubbish, Greengrass.” Blaise sauntered over and leaned on the back of Pansy’s chair, his expression smug and cutting. “Nimueh Llewelyn is a nutcase and a blood-traitor, and no sensible wizard would want to be associated with her. Getting her locked up was the only good thing Pendragon did in his whole career – but you’d know all about that, wouldn’t you, Elised?”

Merlin froze as Blaise looked straight at him. “Me?” He shook his head. “I didn’t even know who she was until today.”

“Really?” Blaise eyed him closely, mockingly surprised. “Your Pendragon friends haven’t mentioned anything?”

“Yeah, come on, Elised,” Pansy joined in, her eyes glinting wickedly. “Aren’t friends supposed to tell each other everything?”

“They don’t have to,” Merlin said and swallowed, hard. Pansy had hit a tender spot, and she knew it. “I’m going to bed,” he added, speaking too fast and not able to stop himself. There was no point in staying here to be cajoled and bullied.

Leaving Pansy’s cruel laughter behind him, Merlin fled down the stairs to the dormitory. He hesitated on the threshold, surprised to see Draco already there. He was sitting at the foot of the bed, hunched over a piece of parchment in his hands, his half-unpacked clothes scattered around him as if he had been distracted mid-task. Merlin felt like he was invading on something deeply private and tender, but that was a foolish notion. This was Draco Malfoy, a privileged little prick; he didn’t _have_ tender moments. 

Deliberately letting the door slam shut, Merlin stepped into the room. Draco startled and whirled around, shoving the parchment under his pillow. 

“Oh,” he said in a tight, too-even voice, “it’s you.” The sneer on his face was far from convincing. 

“Bedtime reading?” Merlin gave Draco the same smile he had given Gwen before they got on the Hogwarts Express: deliberately wide and carefully foolish. Draco just stared flatly back at him, and the smile melted off Merlin’s face. “None of my business?”

“None of your business,” Draco agreed. 

Merlin pushed down his reckless urge to press the matter further and concentrated on getting ready for bed. Draco did the same. The silence grew stiff and swollen, but neither tried to break it.

The others traipsed in not long after Merlin had climbed into bed. Blaise said something about Herbology, Goyle grunted, Crabbe chuckled. There was a brief scuffle over a pair of socks, and then the heavy sound of Crabbe or Goyle collapsing onto his mattress. 

Eventually, the chatter died down into the familiar sounds of sleep. Or, almost familiar. Beneath Blaise’s snuffles and Crabbe’s rumbling snores, there was another sound: uneven breathing, harsh and ragged. The sound of someone trying to breathe through the weight of fear. Merlin had spent enough nights in tortured silence that summer, fighting for breath as he stared up at his ceiling after a disturbing dream, to recognise it in someone else.

Merlin sat up slowly, the whisper of his bedclothes painfully loud. Crabbe, Goyle and Blaise all slumbered on, but Merlin could make out the pale shape of Draco’s face, staring up at the canopy of his bed.

“Draco?” Merlin whispered. Draco’s breath sputtered and caught. “Draco, are you awake?” Stupid question, but Merlin didn’t know what else to ask. 

Silence. Draco seemed to hold his breath. 

“You... can talk to me?” Merlin offered. 

A faint wooden creak. The sigh of moving bedsprings. Was Merlin imagining it, or had Draco turned his head to look at him? The eery darkness of the dormitory, stained green by the moonlight that filtered through the porthole-like windows near the ceiling, made it impossible to tell. 

Then Draco’s hand emerged from under the covers and yanked the bed’s curtains closed.

⁂

When the second years awoke the next morning, they found their timetables awaiting them at the foot of their beds, folded on top of their uniforms. Merlin sat up groggily, disconcerted to see an emerald green envelope tucked inside of his timetable. A furtive glance around the room confirmed that none of the others seemed to have one.

> _Meet me at 6 PM for your first remedial Potions lesson. No ingredients required. Do not be late._
> 
> _— S. Snape_

said the enclosed note. Merlin grimaced to himself as he got dressed, wondering if he could get away with feigning illness. An evening trapped in the Potions classroom with Professor Snape was about as appealing as eating Crabbe’s socks.

“You’d better hurry, Elised,” Blaise said, lingering at the door. Merlin looked up at him in surprise, warily taking in the vicious little smile on Blaise’s face. “Surely you want to go and spend some quality time with your Pendragon _friends_. Make sure there isn’t anything else important they’ve forgotten to tell you.”

Merlin felt his face heat, but he swallowed and met Blaise’s eyes. “At least I have friends, Blaise.”

Blaise just sneered and walked off, leaving Merlin to make his own way up to breakfast.

Merlin arrived in the Great Hall for breakfast just in time to hear a half-familiar voice shrieking, the sound bouncing off the enchanted ceiling and rattling goblets of juice. He looked around in confusion, trying to work out why on earth Mrs Weasley was at Hogwarts, and met Ron and Harry’s guilty eyes.

The two of them were huddled over a smoking envelope, flanked on either side by Hermione and Gawain. Merlin got to enjoy a moment of relief at seeing them all together, before he realised that there was no sign of Arthur. He squashed his disappointment

( _fear_ )

and approached the table, his hands raised to cover his ears in case the noise started again.

“What _was_ that?”

“A howler,” Ron said gloomily. 

“Kind of like sending a recorded message in a box, but it’s a letter. And it explodes,” Gawain explained, seeing the look on Merlin’s face. He then nudged a first year with his elbow. “Oi, shuffle over and let my friend sit down.” Before Merlin could protest, he had been pulled down onto the bench between Gawain and Harry.

“Don’t bully them, Gawain,” Merlin chided, but he couldn’t help grinning. The grin didn’t last long, though; Gawain with looking at him with uncharacteristic seriousness.

“Have you seen Arthur?”

“Why would I have seen him?” Merlin fought to keep his voice steady. “He’s in your house.”

Ron looked uncomfortable. He prodded at his eggs with a sausage. “Well, you’re friends with Morgana.”

“Yes,” Merlin said slowly. 

“And we thought – I mean, she might have said something...?” Hermione ventured.

Merlin’s heart sunk. “Haven’t seen her.”

“Honestly!” Hermione burst out. Merlin thought she was annoyed at him, before she ploughed on, “What’s he thinking, hiring _her_?”

“He hired Snape,” Harry pointed out. 

“Snape’s not a murderer, is he?” Hermione leant over her porridge, getting steadily more worked up. Other Gryffindors had stopped their conversations to stare at them. On the other side of the table, Dean Thomas tried to say something, but Hermione ignored him. “But _she_ is. I’ve read about her – the trial was huge. Not even the Death Eaters would touch her. She terrified them. And it wasn’t the first time they had threatened her with Azkaban, you know? She’s violated the statute of secrecy and – _what_ , Dean?”

Dean’s gestures for Hermione to listen to him had been getting more frantic with every word they said but, as Hermione glared at him expectantly, he went silent.

“Someone,” said a wryly amused voice from behind, “hasn’t read the Daily Prophet.”

Hermione went as white as a sheet. Merlin, feeling like all his joints had seized up, turned around. 

Nimueh Llewelyn stood behind them, holding out a copy of the Daily Prophet. She set it down on Hermione’s plate. 

“Here. I’ve finished with mine,” she said. Merlin just had time to read the headline 

_Victim or Murderer? Nimeuh Llewelyn Cleared of All Charges_

before Nimeuh spoke again. Her next words made him want to crawl out of his own skin and slither away. 

“I’d like to see you in my office, Mr Elised.”

Merlin’s throat worked furiously, but he couldn’t get himself to swallow. His tongue felt thick as he asked, “Now?”

“Now.”

Merlin followed Nimueh up to the hallway where he usually had his History of Magic lesson, resisting the urge to drag his feet. Whatever this was, best to get it over with. 

Nimueh opened the door to a previously disused classroom and gestured for Merlin to go ahead. The interior had been redecorated, but sparsely. There was nothing in the room to reflect its new occupant’s personality – only a large desk, two spare chairs, a filing cabinet, and an unfilled bookshelf.

And there, sitting on one chair, was Morgana. 

“Sit, please.” Nimueh said primly.

Merlin didn’t want to know what would happen if he disagreed. He sat by Morgana, unable to take his eyes off of Nimueh as she shut the door.

“Excellent,” Nimeuh said. “Now we can have a frank and honest discussion.”

“Oh, so that’s what we’re doing here?” Morgana said acidly. Merlin wanted to tell her to shut up, but his mouth wouldn’t work.

“Indeed.” Nimueh sat down on her side of the desk and smiled coldly at Morgana. “Tell me, Miss Pendragon, are you a seer in this one, too?”

Morgana’s spine straightened even more, which shouldn’t have been possible. Merlin wanted to reach out and touch her hand, to tell her it was okay, but she caught his eye and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.

“Good. We’ll make a High Priestess out of you yet.” Nimeuh then turned to Merlin. “And you, Emrys. Freya has told me a lot.”

Merlin blinked in surprise. _Freya_. He couldn’t picture Freya and Nimueh together, much less having a conversation about him. They differed completely from one another, _but_. Merlin didn’t think he had imagined the slight softening of Nimueh’s expression.

“Why are we here?” Morgana cut in, still bristling. The walls behind Nimueh’s eyes slammed back up.

“I didn’t kill Igraine Pendragon. Let’s make that clear.” Nimueh laced her fingers together on the desk’s surface, back to her brisk, dry way of speaking. “I am no fool – Dumbledore could have produced his evidence of my innocence at any time. He has chosen now because Voldemort is stirring, and he doesn’t know what to do about you.” She directed this last at Merlin like an arrow tip. He forced himself to hold Nimueh’s gaze, which just seemed to amuse her.

“So, you know about the whole... destiny thing?”

“Yes.” Nimueh shrugged one shoulder. “You and I go a long way back. You’ve killed me before, you know? I wonder if you’d be so pragmatic now, should the need arise.” She raked her gaze up and down Merlin. “No, I think not. A pity.”

“There’s nothing pragmatic about murder.” Morgana clipped out.

“How times change.” Nimueh smirked. “But enough beating around the bush. I called you here because we are all alike – our souls are ancient, shared between a thousand worlds and times. We cannot afford to let petty wounds get in our way.”

“Petty?” Morgana all but snarled.

“ _Our_ way?” Merlin said.

Nimueh sat back in her chair, regarding them both as if they were small animals whose antics had ceased to be endearing.

“You are wolves among sheep, even if you don’t know it yet. Freya wants me to be gentle with you – a guiding hand, a coaxing voice. But the time for gentleness is long gone.” The ever-present amusement in her face faded into something cold and unreadable. “You’ve failed to save Arthur so many times, and so it forces us to return again and again, pawns in the hands of destiny. You need my help if we’re to keep Arthur Pendragon and Harry Potter alive to fulfil the roles they must play.”

_You failed to save Arthur so many times._

Merlin felt ill. He didn’t know what Nimueh’s version of ‘whatever it takes’ might look like, and he didn’t want to.

“I don’t need your help,” he heard himself say, standing up. “I need to get to Charms.”

Just as Merlin reached the door, Nimueh spoke again. “Don’t you want to know why this magic doesn’t work for you, Emrys?”

His fingers faltered. _There’s no other magic,_ he wanted to say, _Is there_? But he didn’t want to listen to Nimueh talk about another him, one who was willing to commit murder. 

( _one who failed_ ) 

“I don’t need your help,” he said again, and slammed out of the room.

⁂

By the time Merlin met up with Gwen in the half hour before dinner, he felt like the summer break had been a million years ago. He lay on his cloak beneath the shelter of a willow, staring up at the grey light through gaps in the leaves as he told her about his conversation with Nimueh.

“I can’t believe you told her you didn’t need help. You obviously do.”

“Hey!” Merlin made his best attempt at a scowl. Judging by the smile on Gwen’s face, he didn’t succeed. “I said I didn’t need _her_ help. She said that murder was pragmatic, as if that’s a good thing.”

“We need an adult we can trust, Merlin,” Gwen said at last, softening her voice. “This… it’s not something we can handle on our own.”

 _We. Our._ Her choice of words wounded Merlin in a way he couldn’t name. He didn’t want her involved, but Gwen had elbowed her way into this mess with her warm smiles and fierce eyes, and he couldn’t push her away now.

“I’ve got Gaius.”

“You weren’t speaking to him last year,” Gwen pointed out. “And anyway, I meant an adult here, on site. If some horrible destiny-sent monster attacks the school, it isn’t exactly going to let you write a letter to Gaius first, is it?”

Merlin groaned. “Stop being so sensible.”

“ _Someone_ has to be.”

Propping himself up on his elbows, Merlin looked out at the Lake. It was completely still now, devoid of all signs of life, its surface swallowing what little daylight filtered through the clouds. Very different now from the softly lit evening when he had first met Freya, smiling at him like they were old friends who had been apart for years. In some convoluted way, Merlin supposed that's what they were.

“Freya,” Merlin said. “She knows lots of stuff that I don’t, and I trust her completely. Besides, she wouldn’t tell me to murder anyone.”

“Professor Llewelyn didn’t say you had to do that. And anyway—” Gwen looked at him with one eyebrow raised in a very Morgana-esque expression — “I don’t think weird watery ladies count as trustworthy adults. Can she even leave the Lake?”

“She—” But Merlin couldn’t answer that. Yes, Freya had come to him when he lay dying

( _dead_ )

on the floor of the mirror’s chamber, but she hadn’t really been there. And so perhaps Freya wasn’t the ideal candidate for an adult confidante, _but_ … If Merlin’s only other option was Nimueh, with her cool amusement and piercing eyes, he wasn’t sure he wanted to take it.

“You don’t have to do what she says, do you?” Gwen added thoughtfully. “It’s just an option, and those are good to have.”

“I’ll... think about it,” Merlin said, hoping he sounded more convincing than he felt, and stretched. “Come on. Let’s not miss dinner.”

Thankfully, Gwen dropped the subject. They raced each other to the Great Hall where, to Merlin’s immense relief, he saw Arthur sitting at the Gryffindor table. Merlin caught Gawain’s eye, and Gawain poked Arthur until he turned around – and if Arthur’s smile was a bit wobbly, well, Merlin wouldn’t look too deep. He was just glad to have Arthur back where he could see him. 

“He’ll be okay,” Morgana said, dropping into the seat beside Merlin. “I just wish I could say the same about the rest of us.”

Merlin frowned at her, tearing his eyes away from Arthur. “What?” 

“Lockhart.” Morgana slopped mashed potato onto her plate, splashing gravy over the side. There were leaves in her hair and a bruise on her forehead, but she looked much better than she had done that morning. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing. We spent the whole lesson repairing the damage caused in his last class by Cornish Pixies, running around the Quidditch pitch trying to catch them.” She scowled up at the teacher’s table. Lockhart was chattering to Nimueh at a hundred miles an hour, flashing his teeth and laughing too loudly. Flitwick had not-so-subtly shifted his chair away from him. Nimueh, meanwhile, cut her pie with precise, surgical movements and gave no indication that she was listening. As Merlin watched, her eyes flicked up at caught his. He looked away and focused on cutting himself a slice of steak and ale pie, pretending that the tremor in his hands was down to hunger and nothing else. 

“What do we do about her?” Merlin murmured, not looking up from his dinner. He glanced sideways at Morgana’s plate, watching her hands tremble slightly around her knife and fork before she set them down, hard. 

“There’s no ‘we’. Not about her.”

“But—”

“No.” Morgana then turned to Adamantine and Heather, who were sitting opposite, and loudly asked Heather what it was like to live in a lighthouse.

Merlin let Morgana ignore him for the duration of dinner, half-listening to the conversation that Morgana was having with the new first years.

As the Slytherins were heading into the lower reaches of the castle, Merlin grabbed Morgana’s sleeve and pulled her back, letting the rest of the students go past before he said, “I don’t know what to do, Morgana.”

Morgana’s nostrils flared and her lower lip wobbled before she looked away from him.

“You’ll figure something out.” Her voice was hollow. “Ask Gaius.”

“What do – hey, wait—” Merlin put out his hand to stop her from leaving and Morgana wrenched her arm away, her eyes flashing. She stayed where she was though, watching him expectantly with her lips pressed into a tight line. Merlin swallowed and forced himself to keep talking. “What do you mean, there’s ‘no us’? She spoke to both of us. This is about Arthur.”

“My whole life doesn’t revolve around Arthur, Merlin,” Morgana snapped. Merlin recoiled, stung. Morgana’s expression softened minutely, but her voice was still cold as she said, “I want nothing to do with Llewelyn. _Nothing_. She said that I—” Morgana shuddered and shook her head — “Look, it doesn’t matter. I just don’t trust her.”

“Can’t you see her, you know…?” Merlin tapped his temple. “Is that why you don’t trust her?”

Morgana smiled a bitter smile. “Yeah, that’s why.”

“So, I shouldn’t listen to what she has to say?”

“Merlin… I tried to see into her head, of course I did. And do you know what I saw?” Morgana’s left arm crept to her right shoulder, almost like she was hugging herself. “Something ancient, and – dark, but not any darkness I could understand. I don’t know what the hell she’s doing here, but I’m not—” her head snapped around, a calm mask slotting into place over her face. Merlin followed Morgana’s gaze, worried that he would see Nimueh.

But it was worse. Much worse.

Professor Snape stood at the end of the corridor, a pocket watch in his hand, surveying Merlin with cold disappointment. Merlin looked furtively at Morgana, but he couldn’t read her face. She gestured to Snape with a nod of her head and mouthed ‘ _Good luck_ ’ before walking away, leaving Merlin and Snape alone.

“Six Forty-Eight, Mr Elised,” Snape said slowly.

“What…?” Merlin frowned.

And then he remembered.

Swallowing painfully, Merlin wished he could transfigure the stones beneath him into quicksand and disappear. “Oh.”

“ _Oh ,_ indeed.” Snape smiled nastily. “So, if you’ve quite finished with your… clandestine little meeting, it is far past time for us to begin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my Crippling Perfectionism Program was running at 200% with this so in the end I just.... put OMAM's Fever Dream album on repeat, edited for spelling mistakes, then shut my eyes and hit "post".


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Remedial potions shenanigans and late night chats in the infirmary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? A wild chapter?? I really don't have a concrete reason for being awol other than shit's been very busy and I basically just vanished into my novel and poured all my energy into getting it done and then.... burned out a bit. but! novel is done, and i have the mental space to update this again! 
> 
> **Content warning:** for potions-related injuries and general Snape-ness.

The Potions classroom was as dark and dreary as ever. Merlin wasn't sure why he had expected anything different. He sat on a long bench at the front of the room, opposite Snape, and eyed the array of ingredients as if they might bite. Some of them looked like they could. 

"Which one are we making?" Merlin asked, pulling his textbook out of his bag. 

"Put that away," Snape said. He produced from under his robes an incredibly battered book and opened it flat on the desk. It was a notebook or journal of some kind, hand-stitched together and filled with Snape's spiky, refined handwriting. "If I must subject myself to this, I refuse to slog through the mundane mediocrity of a _textbook_."

"But—" Merlin stopped at the look on Snape's face. He nodded, keeping his eyes down. "Okay, so... what are we doing?" 

"Something simple." The way Snape said it suggested he thought Merlin wouldn't be capable. Merlin squashed a surge of irritation and peered at the page that Snape turned toward him. 

"Boil removal potion?" Merlin couldn't stop himself from blurting out. "But we made that last year!" 

"Indeed," Snape said icily, sliding a cauldron across the desk and igniting the burner underneath, "and now you will make it again."

The next thirty minutes were some of the longest and most befuddling of Merlin's life. Snape seemed to have rewritten the entire Potions curriculum and tailored it to his own ideals, switching the stirring directions and changing up the order of ingredients with no obvious reason. 

"Clockwise," Snape hissed as Merlin, proud of himself for remembering what to do, moved to stir anti-clockwise. 

"But last year, you taught us to—" 

" _Clock_. _Wise_. Now add the porcupine quills – crushed, yes. And only half the amount you would expect." 

"But—" 

"Have you no other word in your vocabulary, Elised?" 

"Yes – I mean, no. Sorry." There was an irritating hollow buzzing sound in Merlin’s ears that seemed to get louder every time he made a mistake – and he made many of those. The back of his neck felt blistered from Snape's unrelenting stare and he couldn't see the clock to find out how much longer he would have to endure this and he couldn't _think_. He was certain that he was doing something wrong, but he didn't dare ask Snape about it. All he could do was struggle on and try not to drown in the terrible, rising sound of his own heartbeat. 

Snape's sharp voice hit Merlin first. He blinked, the world returning with the force of a punch, 

( _and when had it vanished? he was certain that he had been concentrating—_ ) 

and followed Snape's gaze downwards. Which was when he realized that he was, in fact, in quite a lot of pain. 

The skin on the back of his hand was bubbling, stained a nasty shade of purple by the potion. And he didn't remember it spilling, but there was more viscous liquid all over the desk, covering his bag.

"Sit," Snape said with all his usual iciness. Merlin sank into the bench behind him, bringing his hand close to his chest. Snape, part-way through turning around toward his supply room, looked back. "Don't touch it."

Merlin flinched and held his hand out in front of him. He expected Snape to insult him, call him an idiot, but that didn't happen. Snape just came back with a small vial of dark liquid and poured some out onto Merlin's seething flesh. 

The horrible bubbling stopped and some of the pain eased, but his hand still throbbed. Merlin had to bite the inside of his cheek. He didn't want to know how Snape would react if he whimpered. 

"Go to Madam Pomfrey," Snape said as he re-stoppered the vial and put it to one side. With a neat tap of his wand, all the spilled potion vanished. 

Merlin walked as slowly and calmly as he could until he was out of Snape's eyesight, and then he broke into a brisk trot. 

The infirmary was quiet and empty. Clutching his hand to his chest, Merlin went to the door of Madam Pomfrey's office and cleared his throat softly. She looked up from her book – frowning at first, and then standing when her eyes fell on his hand. 

"Oh, you poor dear." She came around the desk and ushered him into the main area. "Sit, sit! What on earth happened?" 

"Boil removal potion," Merlin said miserably. He sat on the edge of the nearest bed and watched as Madam Pomfrey rifled through her cabinet of pre-prepared draughts and potions. "Remedial potions. I spilled it on my hand." 

"Let me see..." Madam Pomfrey _tsk_ ed under her breath and drew up a chair, taking her hand in his. Her touch was cool and soft as she examined the damage, and wrapped it in bandages with a wordless tap of her wand. She then handed him a small jar. "Put this on twice a day for three days, and you should heal up nicely."

All pain had gone now, and a pleasant, cooling sensation enveloped his hand. He gave his fingers an experimental flex. “I wish I could do that.”

"I think you could." Madam Pomfrey sat back, regarding Merlin with a look that was both kind and severe. "Do you like Potions?"

Merlin only needed to think for a moment before he said, "Yes. But I don't like Snape." And then he clapped his unhurt hand to his mouth, realising what he had said. He expected Madam Pomfrey to get angry – to remind him to speak of his professors with respect, at the very least – but she just _smiled_. Not quite a sad smile, but not a happy one, either. 

"You're hardly the first student who has told me something like that." She patted his forearm reassuringly. "And I doubt you will be the last. If not for your... hesitance, regarding the teacher, would you enjoy the subject?"

"I want to do something with healing and magical creatures," Merlin said. He didn't add, _Because I never want to see another unicorn die_. "And I need Potions for that, don't I? It's just – when I do things wrong, it always gets worse. I get this horrible noise in my head and I can't think, and I always feel like Snape is waiting for me to make another mistake."

"Mr Longbottom is in a similar situation." Madam Pomfrey sat back in her chair and tapped her wand against her knee thoughtfully, causing tiny bubbles to rise from its end. Her eyes then snapped up to Merlin so sharply that he almost jumped. "Leave it with me. You should get to bed – potions and salves are all well and good, but they mean nothing if you don't get a good night's rest as well. Go on."

Urged on by Madam Pomfrey's stern fussing, Merlin got up and headed for the door. He was just reaching for the handle when it opened to reveal Nimueh on the other side.

For a skin-crawling, painful moment, hers and Merlin's eyes met. She looked tired and pale, and there were dark circles under her eyes that Merlin hadn't noticed during the day. Her face seemed thinner, too, with gaunt and haunted edges. Merlin had a half second to wonder if Nimueh used some sort of spell to hide all that exhaustion and fear – then she spoke, and her usual mask slammed into place. 

(Because it _was_ a mask. Merlin was sure of that now). 

"Shouldn't you be in bed, Mr Elised?"

"I've just patched his hand up after an accident," Madam Pomfrey said, giving Merlin a gentle push. He realised that he had frozen in place, and forced his legs forward. 

"There is no hurry, Mr Elised," Nimueh said. "Wait a moment, and I will walk you back to your common room. It is rather late for a student to be wandering alone out of bed."

Wondering what Nimueh could possibly want, but not daring to disobey, Merlin waited. Nimueh re-emerged not five minutes later, slipping a small vial into the pocket of her robes. 

"What's that for?" Merlin asked. Nimueh paused and glanced down as if unaware of what she was holding. The tendons in her hand stood stark in the dim light as she clenched it tight around the vial, and she swallowed visibly. "I'm sorry. None of my business, I know—"

"A sleeping potion," Nimueh said. "Azkaban does not easily let its prisoners go, if they escape at all."

Morgana had said there was something dark in Nimueh's head that she couldn't understand; Merlin thought he knew what the darkness was now, if only in part. He twisted his hands together, resisting the urge to give Nimueh a warm pat on the forearm like Madam Pomfrey had done for him. 

They descended two staircases in silence before Merlin screwed up enough courage to ask, softly, "Are you angry at Uther for putting you there?"

Nimueh stopped moving. Merlin turned back, thinking that perhaps she was stuck in a trick stair, and found her staring down at him. 

" _Yes_." The air rushed out of her in a low hiss. Her hand was tight and white-knuckled around the banister rail. "More than you could possibly imagine—" But she gave a small shake of her head, frowning faintly. When she spoke again, her voice was as soft and dangerous as the hiss of a snake. "No, you can imagine. Or – you knew it, once. This rage and bitterness towards a man so blinded by his hatred that even here in a world where he has magic himself, he sees enemies among his own kind. The poison in that pig's cold heart has no antidote, and he is determined that others should suffer for it."

"Then... why help me to help his son?"

Nimueh tilted her head back and drew in a long, difficult breath. Merlin could almost _see_ her deflate, as if his question had wounded her in a way that asking about Uther had not. 

"Living as many lives as I have grants a gift of hindsight that I would be a fool to ignore. And I was a fool, at first – I was lost, and hurting, and desperate to understand the memories in my head that shouldn't have been mine – and then..." She smiled a small, gentle smile. Such an expression shouldn't have suited her face, but it did. "I met Freya. She helped me understand. Our fate is far bigger than my wounds, and so I will patch myself up and carry on despite the hurt. For her, even if I struggle to do so for myself." 

Merlin frowned down at his feet. "Wounds fester if you don't take care of them. It's good you want to help, obviously, but. You should look after yourself, too."

Nimueh laughed. The sound was sudden and sharp, seeming to cut the night silence of Hogwarts like a blade. "How can one so foolish be so wise?"

Merlin flushed, unsure whether to take that as a compliment or an insult. Nimueh finally stepped down onto level ground and laid a hand on Merlin's shoulder. She remained like that for a moment, her skin cold and her grip gentle, and then let go abruptly. Merlin had to hurry to keep pace with her long strides. 

Neither of them spoke again until they came to the Slytherin common room's entrance. Merlin said the password, but he didn't go through at once. There was more he needed to say, he was sure of it. He just didn't know _what_. 

"You need to think about what you want, Emrys," Nimueh said. "And what you would be willing to do to get it."

Merlin opened his mouth to ask what she meant, but the hard glimmer in her eyes shut him up. It was all he could do to nod. 

"I will wait, but fate will not. You would do well to remember that." She bowed her head. "Goodnight."

Merlin watched Nimueh until she had rounded the corner, then forced his numb legs through the entrance and stumbled his way to bed. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco chokes on his laughter, Gawain chokes on Hagrid's treacle toffee, and Merlin makes some hard choices.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *casually slides this update towards you as if I haven't been gone for like six months* hey

Merlin trudged his way down to the Quidditch pitch at Morgana's side. It was a bitter morning, but he didn't mind. Morgana, thrilled at the prospect of getting on a broom and whacking a bludger around, was in the best mood Merlin had seen her in since the year began. Soaked socks and biting cold seemed a small price to pay for her smile.

"Not even Draco Malfoy will ruin today for me," Morgana declared, swinging her broom over her shoulder. Lucius had paid for new brooms for the entire team, but Morgana stubbornly clung to hers, which she had lovingly cared for since she joined the team last year. Merlin suspected that was why she was walking with him instead of joining the team discussion, but he said nothing. It was just nice to see that fierce light in her eyes shining at full force.

"You're late," Flint grunted as Morgana and Merlin arrived at the entrance to the pitch. Draco was strutting along at Flint's side. Maybe he thought he looked good, but Merlin thought he looked like a little boy trying to keep up with his bigger, cooler siblings.

"The broom does not maketh the player," Morgana said _sotto voce_ to Merlin, making him snort. Flint shot them both a dirty look, but Morgana just smiled sweetly back. There wasn't much that Morgana couldn't get away with when it came to Marcus Flint: she was a bloody good beater, and not many students were willing to put themselves in the path of a flying bludger.

Flint started talking strategy and Morgana listened intently, but they'd barely gotten to the flight positions when Draco let out an irritated huff. The Gryffindor players were there too – Fred and George joshing around with Harry, Angelina and Katie; Wood chatting away at a hundred miles an hour, unaware that none of his teammates were even trying to keep up with him. As Wood's eyes met with Flint's across the pitch, Merlin could have sworn that the temperature plummeted even further. He flinched inwardly and thought a word that would have made his mam raise her eyebrows in badly disguised glee.

Merlin dragged his feet. He really didn't want to get involved with this. The two teams, plus their friends and various tag-alongs, were converging in the middle of the field. The green and red clashed in the middle, with various other figures ranged outwards from the epicentre. Flint and Wood met chest-to-chest, and an invisible line extended on either side of them, dividing the two factions.

Merlin approached at an angle, unsure which side he should join. He couldn't make out words yet, but he saw Hermione's mouth open and Draco go pale. For a beat it seemed that Draco was going to walk away. His expression twitched, tightened, and warped into a sneer. His tone was low, but whatever he said sent a shockwave through the two teams.

Arthur stepped forwards, thrusting a hand into his robes for his wand. Ron went red. Fred and George tried to throw themselves at Draco with all the fury of the bludgers they usually fought. Harry looked bewildered but angry.

Merlin started to speed up. He felt the magic in the air tense and crackle, infused with Ron's righteous fury and Draco's smug satisfaction. Ron lifted his wand, broken and badly cello taped together, and threw a spell.

It backfired.

Merlin reached the group just as Ron went flying through the air and skidded to a halt on his back on the frozen earth. The Slytherins were in stitches. Arthur put himself between Wood and Flint as if he could do anything to stand against the Slytherin captain, and Harry and Hermione ran to check on Ron. Merlin joined them.

Morgana was bristling with fury. Merlin was on the Gryffindor side of the field now, but Morgana still stood a little way behind Flint. She withdrew her wand from her robes and pointed it at Flint. None of the Slytherins noticed – they were all laughing too hard at Ron. Merlin opened his mouth to call out, but the words choked him. Did he really want to warn them?

The spell struck Draco in the back. He staggered forwards and caught himself on Pansy Parkinson. For a moment he seemed unaffected. He turned on Morgana, baffled and sneering. Morgana smiled back at him. 

Then Draco began to laugh. Not at Morgana – not at anything or anyone. He was just... laughing. And it was _terrible._

Draco clapped his hands to his mouth as if trying to stop himself from throwing up. His throat bulged and his mouth cracked open of its own accord, spewing that awful, hysterical laughter between his trembling fingers. Pansy shrieked and pulled away from him. Merlin didn't blame her. Draco collapsed, struggling for breath. His jaw opened as if he were trying to scream and tears welled up in his eyes, but the laughter didn’t stop. It was high-pitched and wild, more like a cackle, and seemed to have a life of its own.

"Choke on that, you prick," Morgana said, and stalked across the invisible line to the Gryffindor side. She didn't hesitate before taking one of Ron's arms over her shoulders.

"What was that?" Merlin asked. Despite being green in the face, Ron still looked impressed. He opened his mouth to say something, but only managed to belch up a large slug.

"Let's just get him to Hagrid," Morgana said. "Fetch my brother, will you?"

Merlin looked around. Arthur was standing in front of Flint, his wand still half inside his robes. Gawain was tugging on his arm. Merlin added his tugs to Gawain's, and together they pulled Arthur away from the Quidditch pitch. The tortured laughter chased them for a long time.

They had to hide from Lockhart on the way, but eventually gained entrance to Hagrid's hut. He took one look at Ron and proclaimed that the slugs were better out than in. Merlin disagreed, if only because he didn't want to watch Ron cough up slugs.

"What was that?" Arthur demanded of Morgana. "That – that was awful."

"He wanted to laugh at someone," Morgana said and sat on one of Hagrid's chairs, pulling off her shoes and socks, which had gotten drenched by the grass. "So I let him laugh." Hagrid frowned at her.

"Yeh'll not get in trouble, I hope."

"I probably will, but it was worth it." Morgana shrugged. "He called Hermione a mudblood."

A darkness passed over Hagrid's face that Merlin hadn't seen there since they found the dead unicorns last year. Merlin shifted uncomfortably on his chair and reached out a hand for Fang, who was in an agony of excitement as he tried to decide who to say hello to first. Merlin scratched the boarhound's ears and won his attention by slipping him one of Hagrid's cakes.

"That's bad then?" Harry asked. Merlin was relieved he didn't have to be the one to ask.

"Worst thing he could've said," Gawain said. "Little weasel."

Merlin gratefully accepted the tea that Hagrid was passing around. He cradled the big cup close to his chest and tried to reconcile the sobbing Draco with the one who had spat such a cold slur at Hermione. He couldn't do it.

"You still shouldn't have done that," Arthur mumbled into his cup. "Hitting him with a spell was bad enough, but you hit him in the back. It – it was dishonourable. Father will be livid when he finds out."

Merlin frowned at Arthur. "So if you weren't going to use a spell, why was your wand out?"

"I – well, I was—" Arthur stared into his tea. "I wasn't going to let him get away with saying it, obviously. I just. . .didn't get a chance to hit him with anything."

"Oh, what would you have hit him with?" Merlin leaned forwards, eager to press. "Showmanship?"

Arthur went bright red. "I didn't see you rushing to help."

"I was too far away!"

"A'right, a'right, that's enough!" Hagrid rapped a big hand on the table. "'S best yeh don't talk about it. Less I know 'bout you doing rule-breakin', the better."

The tension eased, after that. Hagrid showed them his pumpkins and hinted that he'd used a little contraband magic to make them grow, then urged everyone back inside to try his toffee. Harry thanked Hagrid a bit too loudly and put a piece in his mouth.

Gawain grabbed three pieces of the treacle toffee and held them up. "Hey, Merlin, I bet you I can fit all these in my mouth at once."

"I don't think you should—" Hermione began. Gawain popped them in and bit down. They all watched as Gawain's expression went from defiant to surprised, and his face twisted as if he couldn't open his jaw. A wet popping noise made Merlin look over at Harry, who had apparently only just managed to open his mouth.

"Very bad idea, Gawain," Harry said, somehow managing to keep his expression completely sincere.

Morgana snorted. The sound was loud and unexpected, and Merlin noticed Hermione stifle a grin with her hand.

"Don' choke!" Hagrid said, alarmed. He poured another mug of tea, splashing it everywhere, and shoved it at Gawain. "Wash it down."

Gawain tried to do as Hagrid suggested, but only managed to spill tea down his front. Ron started laughing and hiccoughed up a tiny slug, which only made him laugh harder.

"Staffin! Staffin!" Gawain flapped his hands. "Stapuffin!" He made a choking sound, which alarmed Merlin until he realised that Gawain was laughing, too. Hagrid pounded Gawain on the back, calling him a fool in an exasperated voice, and seemed entirely unaware that Gawain was laughing.

Merlin snorted tea up his nose at the sight and leaned back in his chair – too far. Arthur tried to catch him and fell over too. The floor knocked all the wind out of him, but Merlin didn't mind. Merlin looked over at Arthur, who grinned widely at him – just him, nobody else. His eyes were sparkling, cheeks still flushed with the cold, and Merlin felt dizzy with the sheer _feeling_ that expression inspired.

Merlin got up. He had to, or he was going to burst from everything that Arthur made him feel. Hermione had her face in her hands, leaning against Morgana for support as she laughed. Gawain had managed to chew, but it obviously required a great deal of effort. Fang ran around the table, barking excitedly as Hagrid pushed a glass of water into Gawain's hands.

Merlin felt himself fade from the scene, becoming distant from them. _You need to think about what you want – and what you're willing to do to get it_.

He looked around at his friends, his people, and felt his heart swell. Arthur got up and punched Gawain playfully in the shoulder. Gawain responded by brushing dust out of Arthur's hair. Arthur tried to run away from Gawain's sticky fingers, but slipped on an escapee slug and landed in Ron's lap. Even Hagrid was laughing now, his initial dismay eased.

_This_ , Merlin thought fiercely to himself. _I want this. And I think I'd do anything to keep it._

⁂

Merlin didn't knock on Nimueh's office door. He didn't give himself that chance to change his mind.

Nimueh straightened from a stack of papers with her wand out as Merlin barged in. The door clanged loudly against the wall.

"I won't kill anyone," he said. "I don't think killing is right, and I don't want to do it, even if _you_ think that's what I have to do. I can be pragmatic, and I think that not getting arrested for murder is a very pragmatic choice. I also want you to answer me when I ask you questions instead of talking in riddles, because this won't work if I can't understand what you mean. It isn't cool and mysterious – it's annoying. I need answers."

"Mr Elised—"

"And," Merlin said, breathless but determined, "You need to apologise to Morgana, because whatever you said has upset her. I don't know what you said, but she's been unhappy and I won't put up with anyone upsetting my friends. Not even my teacher, or – or ancient enemy, or... you, whatever you are." He folded his arms and fixed Nimueh with the sternest expression he could manage. Nimueh let out a long breath and sank into her seat. Her wand clattered on the table.

"Are you done?"

"I think so?" Merlin looked down at his feet. "I – I'm sorry for scaring you."

"So you should be. I could have cursed you into oblivion," Nimueh snapped. She breathed out unsteadily again. "Bloody hell. Let's set a few ground rules, shall we? Rule number one: you knock. No, better yet – you send me a letter, and I arrange when we meet and where. If you ever barge in here again, I'll hit you with every spell I know. Sit."

Merlin closed the door and sidled over to the nearest chair. He fidgeted with the strap of his bag as Nimueh regained her composure. Within a few heartbeats, she may as well have called him here on purpose, instead of him surprising her. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him, fingers laced together on the desk.

"I would never ask you to kill anyone, Emrys—"

"And don't call me Emrys," Merlin blurted. Nimueh pinched her lips together, but Merlin didn't think her expression was angry. Not really. More... exasperated, like she was reminding herself that she should have expected this from him. Merlin was quite proud of himself.

"I would never ask you to kill anyone, Mr Elised," Nimueh said, hissing on his name. "But you must accept the fact that one day, likely very soon, you will have to do so in order to save those you care about."

Merlin swallowed. Okay, so he didn't feel as proud of himself anymore.

"I will happily give you answers, but you have to actually listen to them. No running off, thinking that you know better than me. You don't." Nimueh held up her fingers and ticked off each point of his as she countered them. "As for Morgana, I cannot apologise for telling her the truth. If she wants to talk to me again, she can – but I think it would be better if you spoke to her. Your friends might get upset by me – I am quite abrasive, but I'm afraid that's an unavoidable side-effect of my time in Azkaban and these memories in my head. That isn't my problem. Are we clear?"

Merlin nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak yet.

"Good." Nimueh smiled one of her terrifying smiles and sat back, apparently content. "Give me a moment, please." She took a small bowl from a drawer in her desk. It didn't look particularly special – the pattern on it was faded, leaving behind the remnant of a colourful elephant – but Nimueh handled it carefully. She passed her hand over it, and the bowl filled up with water. Merlin gaped. Her eyes—

"Shut your mouth and don't make a sound."

Merlin shut his mouth with an audible clack. Nimueh whispered the words to a spell he couldn't understand, and he stared as her eyes turned from blue to gold. Nothing happened. Merlin couldn't see into the bowl from this angle, but nothing leapt out of it in an explosion of sparks and magic. Nothing glowed, or pulsed, or changed in any way. Nimueh just sat there patiently.

A deafening crack made Merlin flinch. He twisted in his seat, mind leaping to Dobby, and drew up short in surprise.

The house elf who stood just off to the left of the desk was barefoot, with big ears and a beaked nose. The resemblance stopped there. For one thing, she was wearing clothes; for another, her face bore no trace of subservience or fear. She wore a bronze torc around her neck and snug armbands decorated her upper left arm. Merlin thought they might have been carved from bone. Her dress was a mottled mixture of green and brown, cinched at the waist with a braided cord.

"Peony," Nimueh said warmly, then added something in another language. The elf cast her eyes over Merlin and sniffed as if disappointed with him. Merlin might have been offended if he weren't so fixated on her eyes, which were the same colour as his apparently went when he cast magic.

The elf's bare feet made no sound on the stone floor as she stepped closer. She produced a long, slender staff from the air and went on tiptoes so that she could put it on the desk. Apparently done, she inclined her head to Nimueh, then vanished again.

"You – you have a house elf?" Merlin asked once he was able to tear his eyes away from the place where she had been.

Nimueh cast him a withering frown. "No. Peony is one of a small community of free elves rebuilding their culture away from wizarding influence. I am not privileged to know where they live, and I wouldn't want to be." A wistful expression crossed her face for a heartbeat, but she shook it off quickly. "No, we are simply very good friends. She plays a ruthless game of gobstones."

Merlin stared at her, unsure if she was joking or serious. Nimueh just stared back.

"Um. Okay." Clearing his throat, Merlin pointed at the staff. "So... what's that?"

"Yours," Nimueh said.

Merlin stared at it. The staff was a lot more in line with what he'd imagined the stereotypical wizard would use. He briefly entertained the image of Dumbledore, wearing his long beard and longer robes, wielding it and calling lightning from the heavens. The mental image warped as he smirked at it: robes of red and brown, a battlefield, a storm, a dragon, slaughter.

Merlin inhaled sharply and pressed his fingers to his forehead.

"You remember it then?" Nimueh said softly. "Good. That makes this easier."

Merlin blinked through the spots that clouded his vision. They soon cleared, but his unease did not. "I... sort of? It feels—" he reached to touch it, but hesitated. Nimueh nodded.

The wood hummed beneath his fingers. Merlin lifted the staff off the desk and balanced it on flat palms, feeling the ancient song wash over and through him. It was old, impossibly so, and – melancholy? Could a staff even _be_ melancholy?

Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat and closed his fingers around the knotted wood. He got the sense that his hands ought to have been bigger, but the staff fit into his grip all the same. Like an old friend.

"Familiar," he croaked at last. How he wished he could use this in lessons. He was certain that it would make magic a lot easier.

"A true warlock's staff," Nimueh said. Merlin couldn't help but laugh.

"I'm not a warlock,” Merlin said, despite not knowing what a warlock was. “I'm barely a wizard."

Nimueh sighed wearily and pushed her hair back from her forehead. Her expression was distant. "Magic cannot die, but I think it is dead nonetheless. Or, I thought it was – until you came here. You are not just a conduit, like the others here. You are made of magic."

"Then why am I so useless?" Merlin couldn't help snapping. Nimueh raised an eyebrow, but didn't berate him for it.

"I can almost taste the way that the magic responds to you, Mr Elised – it awakens, pleased to know your touch again. You need to tend it, to heal it," Nimueh said. "Your wand is a tool, and a unique one in this world – but it can only help you so much. A wand is a dead thing, and it cannot channel the power that sleeps inside you."

"And this staff isn't dead? it's made from wood." But Merlin knew his attempt at cynicism was misplaced before he'd even finished speaking. The staff wasn't a dead vessel with a tiny sliver of magic inside it like a wand: it was like an extension of himself. Or of the magic he was apparently made from. Merlin wasn't sure where to draw the line between those two concepts. This whole thing was making his head spin.

"The ancestors of the elves, the sidhe, made this staff. You won it in fair combat, and so it became yours. Their magic and yours, bound together to become something more." Nimueh smiled. "A remarkable thing. I envy you its ownership."

"I... can't use this in lessons, can I?" Merlin asked. Nimueh shook her head.

"Not in your standard lessons, no. But in the ones you'll have with me? Yes. I wouldn't have you use anything else."

Merlin put the staff down and ran his hands down his face. His head hurt. This was all so much.

"We'll leave it here for today," Nimueh said and, to Merlin's immense surprise, patted his shoulder. "Take some time to think on what you've learned. I'll send you a message when it's time for us to meet again."

Merlin nodded numbly. Nimueh said that she would keep the staff for safety, and ushered him out of her office. Students were coursing down the halls towards dinner, so Merlin allowed them to sweep him along.

Nimueh scared him, but she was also his only source of information. Gaius tiptoed around him, and mam was a muggle. He needed Nimueh, just as she apparently needed him.

"Merlin!" Merlin blinked. He had arrived in the corridor outside the hall, and Gwen was waving at him. Smiling, Merlin went over to where she and Lancelot were standing, feeling both lighter and more weighed-down than he had in months. Gwen looped one of hers arms through his and another through Lancelot’s. Her hand was warm on his elbow.

_This_ , he reminded himself as Gwen pulled him into the hall. _This is worth anything._

He could only hope that was true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've found it _so hard_ to just sit down and write fanfic lately. Every time I try, I get hit with guilt because there's been So Much to do between my own work and work on the house and my mum having an operation and pandemic and *screams*. But! I was determined to give myself this weekend off, and I feel really good for having bashed out 4k for this fanfic (because what better way to take a holiday from writing than.... doing more writing). I don't know when the next update will come, but it certainly won't be another six months now that I've busted through the block I was having!   
> Thank you for the kudos and comments in my absence, I wholeheartedly and unironically love all of you for tagging along ❤


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *gleefully rubs my grubby little gremlin hands together* time for more Nimueh development :3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all your kudos, comments, bookmarks and subscriptions! I hope you enjoy this chapter, and look forward to your feedback ❤

Merlin had never imagined he would miss the feeling of wet socks, but Nimueh was quick to disabuse him of that notion. He stood knee-deep in the mud around the lake, surrounded by pissing rain, and decided that wet socks were infinitely preferable to no socks at all. At least then he would know what his feet were touching. The mud was both slimy and gritty, and it oozed between his bare toes every time he shifted his weight.

Merlin wrapped his arms around himself and scowled at the watery navy-blue sky. Most of the grounds had turned to mud, and Filch had taken to terrorising students with a broom every time they came within a hair's breadth of an outside door, threatening corporal punishment to anyone who trekked so much as a speck of dust back inside. Merlin didn't want to think about what he'd say to Merlin when he went back for breakfast. Probably throw him straight back out the door. 

"You're not concentrating, Merlin," Freya said gently. Merlin blinked at her. She was wearing a pink plastic raincoat, even though the rain didn't seem to touch her, and her hair was piled on top of her head in a knot of coloured string, small bones and myriad trinkets. Nimueh sat on a rock, barefoot like Merlin, although she wasn't stuck up to her arse in smelly sludge.

"It's hard to concentrate," Merlin said, "when I keep thinking leeches will eat my toes."

"Leeches don't eat flesh," Nimueh said, at same time as Freya said, "There aren't any leeches here."

The two women looked at one another. Merlin couldn't fathom their relationship, and his only answer when he'd asked was a curt _You're not here to poke around my personal life_ from Nimueh. They seemed able to have entire conversations in a single glance though, and Merlin envied that talent immensely.

"Look, this isn't working." Merlin pulled one foot free with a wet squelch that made his stomach turn. He promptly lost his balance and wound up on his backside, his raincoat ballooning out around him.

"Give him a hand, love," Freya said to Nimueh, who shook her head but complied. Her skin was warm, despite the chill air, and – _and_ —

"How are you dry?" Merlin demanded. Nimueh flashed her teeth and extracted herself from his grip.

"You'll learn that, if you can learn to do this." She walked back to her rock, moving easily across the sodden ground. Although the mud still indented where she stepped, it didn't suck her in like it did Merlin. Merlin squinted. Nimueh's eyes weren't glowing, but this was absolutely magic.

"Did you really explain it to him, Nimueh, or did you just tell him what to do?" Freya raised her eyebrows and Nimueh seemed – sheepish? The expression passed in a blink, but Merlin filed it away for later.

Throwing up her hands, Nimueh began to explain. Despite her apparent irritation, her voice was patient. Merlin could even have sworn she was enjoying herself. “Ninety percent of magic is about coming an agreement with the forces of the world. When things don't respond to your push, you must work with or around them, drawing on your own intent and strength of will to find a compromise. That is the biggest difference between the new way and the old."

"And you've... come to an agreement with the rain and the mud?" Merlin asked slowly.

"I have." Nimueh nodded. A weak trickle of daylight spilled over the horizon, and Merlin could see now that the rain bent ever so slightly away from Nimueh. He likely wouldn't have noticed unless he was looking for it. "New magic is so much willpower, like a battering ram. They force their intent into things with foolish words and gestures, twisting the world without asking it first if it would like to be twisted. They do not realise that many things are happy to respond to magic if touched gently."

"So if I just stroked a hedgehog and asked it to become a pincushion, instead of waving my wand, it would do it?"

Nimueh's expression twisted. Merlin saw Freya wince out the corner of his eye, but didn't get a chance to ask what was wrong.

"Such transfiguration makes a mockery of the balance between life and death!" Nimueh was the closest Merlin had ever heard her to shouting. The wind air around her swelled and shuddered in response to her anger, and Merlin felt the aching thrum of it in the base of his skull. He could smell ozone and something that reminded him of sun-baked tarmac. The hair on his arms stood up straight.

"They don't know, love." Freya stepped into the shallows and reached out, just able to brush her fingers over Nimueh's arm. The touch was light, but Nimueh inhaled sharply and deflated as if pricked. Freya's voice was so soft Merlin felt guilty for hearing it; this conversation suddenly seemed a private thing. "They've forgotten, and the world has changed. You can't blame them for their ignorance."

"I can. I do," Nimueh said under her breath, not quite talking to Freya.

"But then," Merlin said, something in his throat clicking as he swallowed, "How does it work?"

"I think we should leave it for today—" Freya began. Nimueh shook her head.

"Stone understands that change is necessary. Its very existence is shaped continuously, albeit slowly – by wind, by rain, by frost and thaw. Magic is only one step further." Nimueh knelt by the rock she had been sitting on and pressed her palms flat against it. Her eyes glowed molten amber, and Merlin's mouth dropped open as the rock smoothed itself beneath her touch. The rugged surface became polished, revealing veins of colour that had previously been buried, and formed an area perfect for Nimueh to sit on. "The earth," Nimueh said as she sat, "Is of stone, but it is also different. It knows life, and it nourishes life, but it is not quite alive. One can encourage it to live with only a breath of magic." Her eyes flashed again. Mud surged up like some misshapen arm, twisting and writhing towards the sky. It shivered, rippled, slowed – and changed. The mud became bark, smooth and supple. An apple tree sapling. 

Merlin reached out, but his fingers fell just short. He didn't dare to touch it. "That's a proper tree? It'll grow, bear fruit?"

"Yes."

"And drop rotten apples into my lake when summer ends," Freya said with a scowl, although Merlin didn't think it was genuine. Nimueh smiled.

"Everything has a nature, a sense, and it responds to magic if you know how to ask. This is what you must understand."

"And I'm supposed to understand that by freezing my toes off?" Merlin asked.

"Mr Elised..." Nimueh pinched the bridge of her nose. "Will you continue to be this insufferable?"

"Only when you drag me out in insufferable conditions," Merlin said, and took an unsteady step back to where he'd left his shoes and socks on a bench. His coat pockets, filled with mud from his topple, squelched and swung around him. 

"Fine, fine, that is enough for today." Nimueh waved him off. "Just... try to listen to the things around you, to understand them."

"I'm listening to my soaked clothes," Merlin grumbled. Freya laughed.

Back at the castle, Merlin used his wet socks to wipe the worst of the mud off his feet and shins, then went barefoot to the Slytherin dungeons. He was soon showered, dressed in warm clothes, and on his way to meet up with Gwen.

Merlin found Gwen at the stairs up to the Gryffindor tower, chatting with Hermione, who had waited to let her and Merlin in. He hastened his step to catch up, but he needn't have worried: Gwen and Hermione were deep in discussion about the merits of enchanted jewellery, and neither noticed Merlin until he loudly cleared his throat. Hermione opened the portrait door and the three of them climbed into the cosy common room. The Fat Lady wasn't thrilled about letting members of other houses into the tower, so Merlin and Gwen both put their hands over their ears when Hermione said the password.

"Might've been easier if we met in the Hufflepuff common room," Merlin said as he stepped through the portrait hole.

"Nah," said Gawain, appearing from nowhere to bump his shoulder against Merlin's. "We don't want to go there."

Ron snorted. "You're only saying that because you called Ernie Macmillan a – what was it? Snake-headed weasel?"

"No, a weasel-arsed snake," Gawain corrected Ron with a shrug. "He got my Fanged Frisbee confiscated."

"He didn't mean to, Gawain," Hermione said. Her tone suggested she'd had this conversation several times already today.

Harry, Arthur, and their Gryffindor friends had taken up the space around the fire. There was just enough room for Merlin to sit on a beanbag and Hermione and Gwen to squeeze into a sofa alongside Harry and Ron. The latter had his legs swung over the arm of the chair.

Arthur was in the armchair with a roll of parchment on a tray on his lap, although he didn't seem to be making much progress with whatever essay he was writing. He smiled at Merlin, but the smile wasn't entirely there. Arthur’s eyes were so expressive, and Merlin could read the disappointment in them as Arthur cast a furtive glance over Merlin's shoulder to the portrait hole.

“Expecting someone else?" Merlin asked.

Arthur swallowed. "Just... thought Morgana might..." He shrugged.

"Slytherins have the field for practise after us," Harry said, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension in Arthur's words. Arthur seemed to relax though, so Merlin let it slide.

"Speaking of Quidditch," Gawain said, tossing a ball of paper at Harry. "Tell them what you've been invited to. It's well unfair."

"A Deathday Party," Harry said, and explained how Nearly-Headless Nick had saved him from detention with Filch for tracking mud through the hallway.

"Deathday Party... It sounds bloody brilliant," Gawain leaned back in his chair and folded his arms, a dreamy expression on his face. "Ghosts mingling around. You could throw food through their heads, their mouths. There'd be so many targets. Plenty of time to practise ghost puns, too – and I bet they'd find them funny, unlike some people."

"'How do you boo' is not a funny pun, Gawain," Arthur said. "My father could come up with something funnier."

"Your father wouldn't know humour if it hit him in the face with a – oi!" Gawain mock-scowled when he realised what Arthur had said. Arthur smirked at him.

"Don't worry, Gawain, I'm sure Madam Pomfrey has something to help you with that burn," Gwen said, and leaned over to pat Gawain's arm.

"Well I think it's fascinating," Hermione said, her eyes alight with keen excitement. "Imagine all the things they've seen, Harry."

"Morbid, is what it is. Celebrating the day you died..." Ron pulled a face. "What have you put for this second question, Arthur? I can't get my head around it."

The morning rolled on into afternoon. Ron, Arthur and Gawain did their homework together, occasionally pestering Hermione for the answers. Gwen let Hermione try out her enchanted hair-clasp. Merlin rescued a Salamander from Fred and George and spent most of the time sketching it as it snuggled into the blazing fireplace. He was loath to leave the warmth and cheer for the gloom of the Slytherin common room, but when Arthur asked him if he had brought his homework, Merlin remembered how large his pile of unfinished homework was getting. Between lessons with Nimueh, remedial potions with Snape and the hazards of being a reincarnated warlock, keeping up with more mundane schoolwork was bloody difficult.

He got a hug from Gwen, a punch in the shoulder from Gawain, a scolding about leaving work to the last minute from Hermione, and left with a spring in his step.

⁂

For all Morgana and Dobby's warnings, this year was turning out surprisingly calm. Even Harry and Ron's arrival by flying car felt like a distant memory; the incidents with Draco and his argument with Morgana a momentary blip. Merlin managed to keep on top of his workload, if only barely, and split his scant free time between practising Old Magic, time with his friends, and writing letters home. He was terribly busy, but didn't mind it. Mostly, Merlin was just thrilled to have normal problems to worry about for a change. 

The week before Hallowe'en, Merlin was walking back from an evening Remedial Potions lesson when he saw Luna Lovegood walking down a nearby staircase. He waved, but she didn't notice. Her eyes were fixed towards the ceiling and her face bore a faintly distracted expression. The first thing Merlin noticed was her canary yellow dressing-gown; the second, her socked feet. She stepped down into the hallway, turned in a slow circle, and finally came to face him.

"Merlin!" Luna smiled at him, then looked down at his feet and up to where his shoes hung from his fingers. "...did someone steal your shoes, too?"

"Steal my shoes?" Merlin repeated, then flushed as realisation dawned. He had taken to walking barefoot when the hallways were quiet, trying to understand what it was that Nimueh wanted him to feel.

Luna nodded. "I think it's meant to be a joke. Or they're being cruel. I'm really not sure which, though." She absently reached down and tugged her fluffy blue and yellow socks back up her legs. "I need them if I want to go outside. Will you help me find them?"

"Sure," Merlin said. Luna looked so bemused and... detached. Like some part of her knew that this was cruelty, but she didn't want to believe it. Merlin knew the feeling. He'd dealt with it enough at school.

They wandered up and down corridors in silence, Luna apparently following a 'sense'. Merlin wondered if that meant she knew where to go to find them because this had happened before, or if she really believed her own words. It was always hard to tell with Luna.

"Why are you walking around in bare feet?" Luna asked. The question might have been abrupt from someone else, but her voice was soft and unassuming. "Are you trying to find stoneswimmers?

"Find... what?"

"Stoneswimmers." Luna glanced back over her shoulder. "They live in stone. Eat it, too. And look like it. Nobody's ever seen one."

"So how do you find them?" Merlin frowned at her.

"You don't." Luna smiled, quite serene, and turned another corner.

Merlin followed her more slowly than before. Talk of stoneswimmers aside, Luna's initial question resonated with him. He wanted to talk to someone about these new lessons with Nimueh, but he could already see how his friends would react. Ron, Arthur and Gawain would laugh; Hermione would be sceptical; Gwen would probably say something extremely sensible that made Merlin wonder why he hadn't thought of it himself. Harry wouldn't say anything outright, but Merlin suspected he'd be laughing inside. None of them would really understand, but Luna... Well, Merlin didn't know if Luna understood nothing at all or more than anyone else, but he doubted she would judge him.

"Professor Llewelyn is giving me lessons," Merlin said. He waited for a few more footsteps, considering what it would be safe to say. "She says there's another way to do magic, and it's all about feeling things. Thinking like things? I don't know. It's not about waving a wand and saying a few words, and then using your wand and your words to force things to happen. I don't know what to make of it."

Luna hummed under her breath. Merlin thought she was going to start talking about stoneswimmers or nargles or some other creature that probably didn't exist, but she just nodded seriously. "That makes sense."

"You think it does?"

"Yes. Rowena Ravenclaw appreciated people who thought differently and did things differently. Sometimes others thought she was weird or wrong, but we know better." Luna tapped her wand against her teeth thoughtfully. "You know, I think we just went past my shoes."

They doubled back and went down a small side-corridor that Merlin could have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. It led into an unused classroom, where a pair of battered trainers hung from what had once been a chandelier fixture. Merlin had no idea how Luna had known they were here.

"Peeves," Merlin said with a sigh. Luna nodded like she agreed, but she wasn't at all bothered. If anything, she seemed relieved to learn that Peeves was behind the shoe theft and not one of her peers.

"Can you get them down?" Luna asked him.

"I don't have my wand."

"Didn't you just say you're learning not to use one?" Luna frowned and cocked her head. Merlin looked around the room. There was a heavy desk pushed up in one corner, and a stack of old chairs that were definitely not capable of taking any weight. Cobwebs blanketed every corner, but Merlin couldn't see any spiders, even though the webs were fresh and free of dust. That bothered him, but he couldn't say why.

"I... can try," Merlin said slowly. He looked back up at the light fixture and took a deep breath, trying to imagine magic lacing his words. "Come here," Merlin said to the shoes. Unsurprisingly, nothing happened.

"Have you done this other magic before?" Luna asked. Merlin swallowed as he thought about the first flying lesson; the way his magic had mushroomed out from his hands like an extension of himself, melding with the earth and the air. Had he worked with those elements, as Nimueh said? Woven them together? He couldn't remember. What he could remember was the way Professor McGonagall had looked at him when he tried to explain what he'd done.

_A push_ , he'd told her. _Like, reaching into the stuff of—of, well, stuff—and then... You know?_ No wonder she hadn't known what he was talking about. He hadn't made a lick of sense, not to her or to himself.

Merlin screwed his eyes shut. Standing here in this musty classroom, surrounded by the quiet of dust and forgotten time, Merlin was suddenly aware of himself. Not just of the cold of the flagstones as it crept up his legs, but of something... more?

A push, Merlin reminded himself. Like reaching out. That's all this is.

Something in him seemed to sink into the stones. His muscles relaxed, breath slowing, and a sense of rightness washed over him. These stones had their own magic, he realised with a jolt. It hummed and pulsed like the beat of a slow heart, uninterrupted by the goings-on of the world above. Yes, it understood that change was necessary; it understood that the feet were wearing it down, smoothing it, and it was content with this, insofar as a stone could be content.

Did the shoes have a similar feeling? Did the chandelier? Merlin reached out on instinct. They were too high up for him to touch, of course, so he imagined his magic reaching out instead. Not pushing this time, but inviting. Calling. Coaxing.

The iron fixture broke.

Merlin's eyes flew open and he leapt back as it fell to the stones with a heavy thunk, bringing plaster dust and Luna's shoes down with it. She skipped over and picked them up, her smile wider than any Merlin had seen on her before.

"That was amazing," Luna said breathlessly. "Your eyes... they’ve gone golden, you know? Like fire, but not so harsh. Warmer. It's fading now." She stepped up close and peered into his face as if she thought she would find something hiding in his eyes. "Do you think I could do that?"

Merlin blinked at her. He felt both seamlessly joined with his surroundings and out of step with the real world – two conflicted feelings, layered over one another like sheets of glass. All it took for that sense to shatter was a sharp breath. The world snapped back into place, and Merlin was just Merlin again: small, cold, groggy. 

"Well," he said slowly. "I don't know." Luna looked so expectant, present in a way she rarely was, and Merlin hadn't the heart to say no. And even if he had, how would he have explained himself? _'Sorry, you're not the reincarnation of a dead warlock with a soul that's been torn between worlds and times'_? No, he doubted she would accept that explanation. "...Maybe?"

"Do you think Professor Llewelyn will have a problem with me coming to these lessons?"

Merlin considered that. Nimueh wanted magic to heal. The way that people used it now made her angry. Surely, this – a witch of the New Magic listening and willing to learn – was _exactly_ what she wanted.

"I think she'll be really pleased," Merlin said.

⁂

Nimueh was definitely _not_ pleased. She took one look at Luna, who stood beside Merlin in the doorway wearing jewellery made from radishes, and her face shut down.

"Miss Lovegood," she said in a tone that could have frozen lava. "Please wait outside."

Without waiting for an answer, Nimueh pulled Merlin into the classroom and shut the door with an offhand flick of magic. Merlin stumbled to a stop a few steps over the threshold and spun to face her. He opened his mouth, but Nimueh beat him to it.

"What were you _thinking_?"

"That... she's my friend, and she's interested in learning?"

Nimueh hissed like a cat. She paced like one, too, back and forth from one end of her office to another. "Freya warned me you could be like this."

"Helpful? Cheeky? Witty?" Merlin couldn't resist supplying. His brain never did like to behave in the face of danger.

" _Naive_ ," Nimueh spat the word at him with such force that Merlin felt like he'd been slapped. He went very still. His hands felt cold and his heart was trying to squirm its way into his stomach.

Outside the room, he could hear students chattering as they walked to the Hallowe'en Feast. There was a plate of sandwiches on the table behind Nimueh, two mugs, and a teapot. His staff was wrapped in a cloth and propped up against the wall behind the desk. She'd been surprisingly considerate, despite insisting that their lesson be held during the feast.

Merlin felt guilty. Why did he feel guilty? Nimueh wanted this, didn't she?

"But... But I'm meant to heal magic," he said shakily. "I'm meant to make it work properly, and not like everyone else does. Shouldn't I teach other people to do the same?"

"No!" Nimueh all but snarled at him. The plate of sandwiches went flying as if in a gust of wind and hit the door, narrowly missing Merlin's head. She froze in mid-stride and whirled to face him. "Do you know why I was in Azkaban, Mr Elised?"

Merlin swallowed. That sounded like a trap. "Because... Uther blamed you for killing Igraine Pendragon?"

Nimueh laughed bitterly. "The murder charge wasn't a reason – it was an excuse. A very convenient one. I dare say Uther Pendragon has grown ever more powerful as a reward for providing the Ministry with it."

"But – why would they want an excuse?"

Nimueh's eyes flared gold. Merlin suddenly found he couldn't move. Everything in the room that wasn't tied down started to lift off the ground, including him. His stomach leapt into his throat. The smell of ozone was back, and the air seemed to constrict like a child's hand around a small, frightened bird. Merlin's heart hammered against his chest, telling him he had to _escape escape escape_ —

The air released him and he landed on his backside with a bone-shaking thump. He scrambled backwards until he hit the wall, crushing sandwiches beneath his palms, but he needn't have worried. Nimueh was doubled over with her hands on the desk, her hair loose around her face, and her shoulders were shaking. Merlin wanted to be angry at her, or scared, or resentful – to feel anything but the compassion that welled up inside him.

"Professor?" He asked in a small voice.

Nimueh didn't look up.

"I was a muggle," she said to the table. "I was born Beca Llewellyn. My parents were Alys and Gareth. I had a dog, I went to church every Sunday, and I didn't know that magic existed outside of fairytales. The memories came to me when I was thirteen, and Freya when I was seventeen. The years in between..."

"You don't have to—"

"They were awful. Magic made it better. I entered the Wizarding world at eighteen, and nobody knew who I was. I didn't have a wand, I'd never gone to a Wizarding School. The Ministry couldn't trace my magic, and they certainly couldn't understand it. Do you think they were pleased with that?"

Merlin shook his head, forgetting that Nimueh wasn't looking at him. It didn't matter. She didn't seem to want his answer.

"Albus Dumbledore, Nicholas Flamel, Uther Pendragon – they were all very eager to take me under their wings. Igraine Pendragon was the only one who wanted to look out for me because she cared. She warned me that if I wasn't careful they'd find a way to cart me off to Azkaban, and I laughed in her face." Nimueh finally looked up. Her eyes were watery, but she hadn't shed any tears. "She was right, of course. I was arrogant. I thought the world would welcome a High Priestess of the Old Religion with open arms, and never stopped to think why those arms would be open in the first place. Do not make that same mistake, Emrys. It will cost you more than you could ever imagine."

Merlin didn't have it in him to correct her for calling him Emrys. Not when she fixed him with that wounded, defiant expression, and he saw the horrors that churned deep within. He didn't know what Azkaban was like, and he didn't need to. One look at Nimueh told him everything he didn't want to know.

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. "I... I'll tell her I got it wrong, and I wasn't allowed to invite anyone else. She'll understand."

"Do that." Nimueh massaged her temples with trembling hands. "Go."

"When's our next lesson going to—"

"Go," Nimueh repeated. She didn't shout, but Merlin wished she had. The exhaustion in her voice was far worse.

Merlin backed out of the room, and narrowly avoided walking straight into Luna. She watched him with wide, concerned eyes, and fiddled with her radish-like earring.

"I hope I didn't get you in any trouble," she said.

"You didn't," Merlin said. He hoped his voice wasn't really shaking, but he could guess by the look in Luna's eyes that it was a foolish hope. "I shouldn't... I'm sorry. It – It wasn't my place to – she didn't..." He gave up and trailed off.

"It's a secret." Luna didn't say it like a question, or with any reproach. She just nodded to herself once, and gave him a smile. "I won't tell anyone. Some things have to stay secret or other wizards will want to ruin them. I know. Let's go to the feast."

Merlin followed Luna back towards the Great Hall in a daze. Morgana had said there was a darkness inside Nimueh. She'd said that he shouldn't trust her, that Nimueh was probably dangerous. But Morgana was barely speaking to him, and Gwen was right: they needed an adult inside the school who was trustworthy. Besides, Merlin didn't think Nimueh was dangerous in the way Morgana meant. Dangerous to herself, yes; maybe even dangerous if someone stood too close and got caught in the blast. She wasn't dangerous like Voldemort though, and Merlin would take that. He needed answers. Nimueh could give them to him. Didn't that make this worth it? Could he judge Nimueh for her anger when she'd clearly suffered so much?

"Merlin?"

Merlin blinked back to the outside world. Luna had come to a stop and put her hand on his elbow. He had a feeling this wasn't the first time she'd said his name.

They were standing in a hallway that led to the main staircase to the Great Hall. A single splash of red marred the flagstones a few feet away.

"What?" Merlin frowned. He was too tired for this. He just wanted to get something to eat and then go to bed.

"Do you think that's part of the Hallowe'en decorations?" Luna tilted her head and continued walking. Merlin followed her.

Luna's sharp gasp made Merlin hesitate, then rush forwards so quickly he almost tripped over his own feet. He skidded on a patch of wet floor, too worried to question where the water had come from, and stumbled to a shocked halt.

Mrs Norris hung on the wall, beneath words painted in garish red.

Merlin couldn't go any further. Luna bumped into him. Her fingers grabbed his forearm and dug in tight enough to bruise, but he didn't shake her off. He couldn't.

Running feet sounded from the other end of the corridor, and Harry, Ron and Hermione emerged. The three of them stared as one at the writing, and then at Merlin and Luna.

From below came the rumbling of dozens of feet as the Feast ended.

"Oh no..." Luna's voice sounded distant. Her face was even paler than usual at the sight of the dead cat, and she seemed to be struggling to get the words out. Merlin closed one hand over hers on forearm and squeezed.

"What does it mean?" Hermione asked nobody in particular.

"We need to get out of here," Ron said. "Now."

Despite the urgency in his voice, nobody made to leave the corridor. Their two groups gravitated together, each member craning their necks to read the words painted onto the wall. Luna still had a hold on Merlin's arm, and he could feel her trembling. The rowdy chatter from below them felt unreal when compared to the macabre silence.

Merlin read the words, and his blood ran cold.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE. 

The sounds of trampling feet were getting closer. One noise finally broke through to Merlin: shoes hitting stone and a breathless but familiar voice. "Ron!"

Merlin looked up and saw Morgana. She'd been running, presumably to get ahead of the crowd Merlin could hear behind her. She splashed through the puddle on the floor and grabbed Ron by his shoulders. Her face had a ghoulish pallor in the dim light, and her eyes looked too bright.

"Have you seen Ginny?" She hissed.

"Well, I – Yes – but—"

"Where?" Morgana asked, not letting go. "Tell me, before—"

The sea of students crested the stairs and flooded into the the hallway. Their chatter died. Their laughter fell cold. Merlin stood before a dead cat on a wall painted with blood, and wished that the stones of the castle would be kind enough to swallow him up.

They were not.

Draco called out a slur, his face vicious and flushed. Filch screeched accusations. Merlin’s heart pounded madly to the rhythm of horror, drowning out almost all the noises around him. He barely registered Dumbledore ushering himself, Luna, Harry, Ron and Hermione away from the gawking students and towards Lockhart’s office. The five of them had to wait outside because there wasn’t enough space, and Merlin sank down against the opposite wall until he hit the floor. The others followed suit.

Luna sat with her knees tucked up to her chest, staring blankly at the wall opposite. Hermione was trying to talk to her, but Luna wasn't listening. Harry and Ron were equally pale, although they didn't look half as traumatised as Luna.

At last, Dumbledore called the five of them into the room. He said that Mrs Norris had been petrified and Merlin didn't think he meant she'd been scared. Lockhart went on about how he could make a restorative draught. Filch muttered about his 'poor dear cat'. Snape loomed over them all like some grim bat of death.

Merlin really wanted to go to bed.

"We just found her like that, sir," Harry was saying. Filch barked an accusation at him. Snape called for punishments until Harry decided to tell the truth. Everyone was so focused on Harry, Ron and Hermione that they didn't consider who had actually been at the scene first. Merlin reached for Luna's hand out of habit, as Gwen had often done for him. She cast him a brief glance, seeming momentarily startled, and then her cold fingers closed firmly around his.

At last, Dumbledore dismissed them. The five of them fled the room and got halfway down the corridor before Merlin and Luna realised they were going the wrong way. Merlin tugged Luna to a stop and Harry slowed too.

"Where are you going? They said we could go,"

"I'm going to walk Luna back to the Ravenclaw common room," Merlin said. Harry eyed him, seeming to consider this answer, then nodded.

"Talk to you tomorrow?" He said. Judging from the way Hermione and Ron shifted behind him, Merlin guessed there was something serious they needed to talk about. His stomach flopped, but he forced a smile anyway.

"Sure," he agreed.

Luna didn't speak for almost the entire way back to the Ravenclaw Common Room, but she stopped Merlin just outside.

"I've seen death before," Luna said under her breath. She stood before the door and showed no intention of entering.

"She wasn't dead," Merlin said. Luna didn't seem to hear him.

"My mother... she made spells. Did things with magic that other people said she should never do because they wouldn't work. Mostly they worked, until—" Luna made a soft noise, one that might have been a laugh or a whine. "Until... they didn't."

"I'm sorry," Merlin said. He didn't know what else he could say. Luna nodded, but the look on her face was still distant.

"Thank you, for trying to take me to your secret magic lessons. And for holding my hand." As if with a great effort, Luna dragged her gaze to focus on Merlin. "I think you're a good friend."

Merlin tried to smile. "You're welcome."

"You'd better go or you'll be in trouble." Luna patted Merlin's arm, then answered the door's riddle and disappeared inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Your support makes this tiny gremlin very happy.  
> If you want to keep up to date with my shenanigans when I'm not on here, you can find me on Tumblr as concerningwolves


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